


Invisible Fracture Lines

by keeptogethernow



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, DC comics - Freeform, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, Gen, I finally wrote a nice thing!, I messed with the timeline, Jason swears a lot, Maybe OOC, Sibling Bonding, Tim Drake is Red Robin, adjusted the ages a bit, brief OC appearance, first chapter fic!, he's actually a good person tho, i am god!, i didn't give up, not sure, one of my favorite villains!, so proud, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:38:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeptogethernow/pseuds/keeptogethernow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason doesn't really LIKE Tim, but given the amount of effort that he's put into keeping the kid alive tonight, maybe he's just in denial. Either way, this was NOT how he'd planned on spending his night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not a Part of the Plan

**Author's Note:**

> So, pretty much the timeline from Final Crisis and up until Bruce became Batman again (anybody remember what issue that was?) is still the same, I just sort of adjusted the ages a little bit, because I felt it would make more sense. So, Bruce is like...30/immortal or whatever, Dick's about 22ish, Jason's 18-19ish, Tim's 15, and Damian is 10.

This was not how Jason had planned on spending his night. Actually, he’s pretty sure that _nobody_ in their right mind would _plan_ on spending their night sitting in the rain and watching a building in the hopes of catching an arms-dealer who had been plaguing the city for about three months now. Especially not with a person they’d tried to kill more than once.

Although, Jason doesn’t technically _have_ to stay and be miserable, as Tim had pointed out tersely when Jason had shown up and complained that the kid was in his way.  And, of course, The Replacement was right (mostly). But Jason had been working this case himself for months, and while Red Robin is pretty competent, Jason can’t seem to find a way to justify leaving, especially knowing just how ruthless and cold this dealer can be.

So he’s just here to make sure that the idiot doesn’t get himself _killed,_ because Jason would be then be the last person to see The Replacement, and he’s pretty sure that he’d get the blame somehow if the boy died. Jason knows that they’re both working outside of the family’s knowledge, well, he knows that _he_ is. He’s pretty sure that The Replacement is too, because he acts so nervous when Jason brings Batman up briefly.

Speaking of, he’s pretty sure that Tim is either asleep with his eyes open or has somehow developed a meta-human ability that allows him to, like, never blink, _ever_.

 _Maybe it’s also an immunity to awkward silences,_ Jason thinks irritably. He’s justifiably grumpy at this point, because it’s about 1 a.m., raining cats and dogs, he _really_ needs a smoke, and the kid has said maybe ten words to him since they started this stake-out, _three hours_ ago.

Granted, Jason was happy to sit there and ignore the other vigilante _then,_ but it’s been a long time since that, and he’s bored. His phone had died about two hours ago, and that was probably about when he’d started noticing how awkward this situation had become.

He sighs and stretches his legs out, wishing that he’d worn pants that were water-proof. _Or maybe an umbrella,_ he thinks, ruefully adjusting the collar of his jacket and wincing as the water that had pooled there trickles down his neck and back. He hears a snort, and glances over in time to see the kid’s mouth twitch as he tried not to let on that he’d laughed.

“Cute, kid. Cute.” He says, flicking the water off of his jacket at Tim. “Remind me not to care when you get a cold and die. Seriously.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re ‘seriously’ dramatic? Now be quiet. I think there’s finally someone coming out.”

“Funny. Anyone ever tell you that you’re way too serious for someone your age? You’re like, what, thirteen?”

“I’m _fifteen,_ you’re an idiot, and one of us has to be the adult here. This bust is important, and I’m not gonna blow it just because you’re _bored_.” Tim hisses, squinting at the building they’ve been watching.

Jason’s still grasping for an appropriately snarky comeback when the kid jumps off his perch and moves silently to the ground, staying in the shadows, as two men exit the building and lounge against a wall, either on look-out or taking a smoke break. Jason will _never_ say it out loud, but he’s got to admit that The Replacement is pretty impressive at times, even if he _is_ a little shit and needs to loosen up.He hops down to the ground, and it would have been totally silent, except for the fact that his boots have managed to collect quite a bit of water, and they squelch when he lands. It’s not a noise that anyone other than a Bat would notice, but he winces anyways, because _dammit, he’s better than that._ Tim shoots him a Look, and Jason suddenly remembers another reason that he really disliked kid—it’s like working with Batman, albeit, a much smaller, less intimidating (if you don’t know him) Batman. It has this magical effect of bringing out Jason’s inner-teenage angst.

A sound from the building jolts him out of his rumination. Both vigilantes tense, waiting to see what will happen. The guys outside don’t react, so whatever it was, they had been expecting it. Jason’s about to suggest moving in on the two, when he hears it again, clearly this time—someone screaming, either in pain or terror, it’s hard to say which. Jason reacts faster than Tim, whipping out a gun and shooting both men. He hears the younger vigilante growl softly in irritation as they both move toward the building.

“They’re not dead,” Jason clarifies before he gets the oft-repeated “Red Hood, no killing” lecture. “Roy gave me this bullet prototype to test out—some sort of nerve thing, I forget what, but it just paralyzes them for a while. And it wears off, so they’ll be fine.”

He gets a nod in acknowledgement.

“I take the windows, you get the door?” _Not that I’m going in the door if you disagree._

“Fine. On _my_ signal, okay, Hood? Not before.”

“Sure, sure.” He waves in acknowledgment, already preparing to grapnel up to the windows—about twenty feet or so. “I can do that.”

Red Robin doesn’t respond and slips into the building. Jason quickly follows suit through the windows. _Yay teamwork._ He’s relieved to find that the second floor is more of a walkway and not closed off from the lower floor—very convenient for sniping. He grins under his helmet. _This will be fun._

A quick look around gives him a good idea of what’s going on. There are four men on the walkway with him, but they obviously feel secure, seeing as how they haven’t noticed his less-than-subtle entrance. The ground floor is clearly where all the action is—he counts at least six men in addition to the dealer (Jason still hasn’t bothered to remember his name—makes the job easier), and all of them are armed. He quickly locates Red Robin, who’s found a blind spot to hide in, and seems to be calculating his course of action. Jason’s also able to quickly identify the source of the screams—some kids had the misfortune of camping out in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The brats must of stayed hidden for a while, which would explain both why the vigilantes outside hadn’t heard anything sooner, as well as why the dealer seems so totally pissed off about the whole situation. The older kid has probably figured out that they’re royally fucked, because he’s apparently decided to give up on even pretending to be respectful and keeps answering the questions addressed to him with “fuck you”. The younger one, who Jason figures is probably the screamer, isn’t saying anything, and just clings to the older kid.

 _Fuck._ Jason hates working around kids. It’s not he doesn’t like kids or anything—they just seem to always get right in the way, especially street kids, normally while trying to escape a dangerous situation. Jason would know. He was one, after all.

He catches Red Robin’s eye and gestures. _Now what?_

The kid shakes his head. _Your move._

_Very well._

He tunes in to the “conversation” taking place on the floor.

“—sent you?” The dealer, a red-faced man in a suit—Jason suddenly recalls his last name: Jeffers—shouts.

“No one fucking sent us!” The kid seriously seems to be planning a double-suicide via firing squad.

“So you just ‘happen’ to be in the right place to overhear my conversations?”

Jason also suddenly remembers that Jeffers is pretty much Arkham-worthy crazy, and extremely paranoid.

“I’m sure. They _are_ the _only_ rats in the building, correct?”

The latest question was directed at one of the men on the walkway, who immediately starts to scan the area and sputter a response. Jason figures that’s as good an opening as any.

“Well, I’m not a ‘rat’, but…” He quickly fires off a few rounds (he’d sighted out the guards on his level while listening) and takes the men up top out. “I figure that you probably won’t care that much, seeing as how bats _are_ related to the species.”

He’s jumped down while saying all this, so now he’s across from the man, who looks both confounded and like he's about to have an aneurysm. Red Robin has moved too, and already has two of the guards down for the count, and he’s working on the third. There are several downsides to fighting men with big guns, as far as Jason can see.

 _First, they don’t have to be great shots, because a heavy spray of bullets in the right area is just as effective, if not more-so._ He has to jump behind a wall support almost immediately after he finishes his sentence, because the henchmen have great reflexes and heavy trigger fingers.

 _Secondly, guns do not differentiate between targets and bullets don’t hesitate to hurt civilians, allies, and enemies alike._ Almost as soon as he’s moved, Jason’s trying to see around the corner, because he reacted on instinct and just left those kids in the middle of a firefight. A quick glance nearly takes his head off, but he sees that they’re either incredibly lucky or…just incredibly lucky, because they got out of the way in time, and are staying out of fire.

 _Good._ He can see Red Robin from his position, and watches as the smaller hero uses momentum to throw his opponent out of the way of the oncoming bullets, ducking down after him. _See? This is why that whole “no-killing” rule is ridiculous. Kid’s gonna fucking_ die _protecting some asshole who wants him dead. Idiot._

 _The third and final reason that gun fights are shitty is simple—once you’re out of bullets, you’re royally fucked._ Jason’s gun clicks, apparently empty. As is his second gun.

 _Fuck._ Roy didn’t make any reloads, apparently. _Double Fuck._ Jason is now playing the part of “henchman with whip” in _Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark._

 _Even Indy didn’t like these odds._ Jason mulls over his options after tossing the guns. He has a knife—well, two. Five or six batarangs, some smoke pellets, a pack of cigarettes, sans lighter, a set of bolos, a few bandaids, and…that’s it. _Fuuuck._

“Hood!”

The shout snaps Jason’s focus back to the fight. Red Robin has all but one of the men down and is gesturing wildly at the door he’d entered through.

“He’s getting away!”

 _At the risk of repeating: Fuck_.

Jason takes off after the dealer, shooting a glance at the kids as he passes, and tossing a “be careful!” at them and Red Robin over his shoulder. He doesn’t wait for a response, and he’s out the door before they could give one anyway. A quickly look around shows him that Jeffers is heading towards the Piers, probably hoping to either shake him or find a boat.

About five minutes into the chase, and Jason officially hates this man with a fiery passion that matches the burning sensation in his lungs. He really wants to know how this asshole can keep going—the man’s not exactly fit and definitely older than Jason by a good twenty years. It’s really not fair.

He’s finally gaining though, so Jason isn’t ready to cry over the injustice of this all just yet. It’s a straight stretch of street and he puts on some speed, hoping to tackle the guy. But the man makes it to the end and takes a sharp turn. Jason takes an equally sharp breath, but doesn’t have the oxygen to say anything. He hears a thud from up ahead, and puts on even more speed, racing around the corner like a mad man…and then he’s trying to stop this momentum before he runs anyone over.

Red Robin has somehow appeared out of thin air or something, and must have tackled Jeffers and knocked him out. They’re still on the ground, and Jason tries so hard to stop that he’s pretty sure he wears holes in his boots from skidding. The collision is rather epic. Jason smacks into Tim, who had just stood up, and they both sprawl back over Jeffers, slamming into the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of both of them. He’s pretty sure he heard someone’s ribs crack, and his nose is definitely broken or at least bleeding from the impact of his helmet on the ground…or maybe Tim’s shoulder, he’s really not sure.

They lay there, groaning, Jason trying to extinguish the fire in his lungs, until Tim starts shoving him.

“Ge’ ah!”

Jason obliges, because the kid sounds really panicked.  As soon as Jason’s up, Red Robin gasps like he’s been drowning, and Jason feels _a little_ offended, because he does _not_ weigh _that much!_ But only for a second, because now he’s feeling just how sore his nose is, and he’s pretty sure that his mouth is bleeding too.

They don’t say anything for a few minutes, assessing their individual injuries—or, in Tim’s case, Jeffers’s injuries. Jason personally feels that the man deserves whatever injuries this caused, but whatever. He’s got his own problems—with the helmet off, he’s found that a: his nose is indeed broken, and b: his front right tooth is loose.

 _Am I still on B’s dental plan?_ He’s pretty sure that he is, but it shouldn’t be needed if he’s careful. So now, of course, he keeps poking it with his tongue. _Self-fulfilling prophecy._

“The jerk still alive?” he asks, because that’ll keep him distracted from the tooth. “Red?”

“He’s fine. I think you _stepped_ on him. His ribs are totally broken, and there’s this bruise in the shape of your foot!”

Jason raises an eyebrow, because The Replacement sounds kind of…not gleeful, but…sort of pleased. Also, amused. Jason has _never_ heard the kid sound anything like that before, and it’s jarring and more than a little troubling in a way, because there’s this undertone of something else there.

“What?”

Jason jerks, and realizes that he’s staring.

“Huh?”

“ _What?”_ Tim snaps again. “What is it?”

“Uh…” He shakes his head, and stands up. “Nothing.”

The Replacement snorts at him. “I think you’re concussed, Hood.”

 _Sure._ “I am not!” Jason inhales slowly, because he’s not going to fight with a kid. He’s _not._ “Did those kids make it out okay?”

Tim looks up from trussing up the dealer. “Yeah. They’re fine, I guess. Took off as soon as I’d called the cops. Oh, and they stole about fifty bucks off of one of the guys, said something about ‘buying dinner’, so…” He shrugs.

Jason nods, remembering being a scared little kid on the street, starving and angry, but not wanting to accept “charity”. He’d have done the same thing. 

“Good. Um…want a hand up?”

He’s almost sure that the kid will refused and leave him standing there with a hand out awkwardly. But he doesn’t, and Jason’s secretly glad. And then…not so glad, because the kid lets out this involuntary gasp of pain when Jason pulls him up.

_Of course. Because tonight cannot get any better. Fuck._

“How bad is it?” Jason asks, still holding onto the kid’s arm, because he knows how Tim works, and he’s _not_ letting the kid blow it off, not after all this effort he’s just put into keeping him alive.

“It’s not—“

“How. Bad?”

Tim presses his lips together and must give up or something, because he sags and ends up back on the ground, sitting against the wall.

_Great. That bad._

“Okay.” Jason sighs, and kneels down next to him. “So…who am I calling? B or Wingding?”

Tim snorts. “’Wingding’?”

“What? It’s a good one. Now, who?”

The kid presses his lips together even tighter, and he manages to look literally everywhere except at Jason.

_Why me???_

“Yo, Replacement, any time now.”

The kid still won’t look at him and…is he crying? _Fuck!_

 _“_ Red? Red Robin?”

Nothing. _I get not calling Bruce—he’s an ass. But Dick…Are they fighting…or something? I mean, I could have missed something. I know he and Dick aren’t exactly close anymore, but I thought they were doing better. Maybe not? But seriously. What. The. Fuck._

Jason glances quickly to make sure that Jeffers is still out. He is.

“Tim!”

That does the trick. The kid snaps his head up so fast, Jason almost thinks he’s going to have whiplash.

_He’s definitely been crying._

He obviously knows how to look like he hasn’t, but Jason knows what a miserable kid looks like, and Tim definitely fits the bill. And now Jason _is_ worried, both for the kid and because he actually really cares, apparently, and just… _Fuck!_

“No names in the field.” The kid says, all monotone and chocked up. _Yup. Definitely was crying._

“Well, then you should answer faster! Now, _who_ am I calling?”

Tim shakes his head. “I’m _fine._ Really. Can I just—“

“Shut up. Don’t even try that bullshit. I’m not Bruce, _or_ Dick, and I’m definitely not falling for that line!”

Somehow, this sort of shocks them both, and they sit there, having a sort of stare-down. Jason is _not_ about to be the one who looks away first, and he knows that Tim is equally, if not more, stubborn. He’s pretty sure they’ll be here all night. But then again, Jason is just too tired to fight like this for long.

“Fuck, Tim.” He sighs, and quickly looks to ensure, again, that the only witness has remained unconscious, before continuing. “We’re not playing this game, okay? If you don’t want to call B, fine. If you don’t want to call Dick either, okay. But you’re not gonna go wherever it is you’re staying and do what you normally do—“ he waves a hand to stave off the protest he can see building. “We both know you don’t take care of these things, you’re not as sneaky as you think, and I’ve seen what you call ‘okay’, and this is not it, so shut up.”

The kid blinks at him, owlishly. Jason takes that to mean that he’s won the argument thus far.

“So, you’ve got a few options here. You either let me call B or Dickhead, drop you off at Leslie’s clinic—assuming that she’s there, that is; _Or_ you get to come back to my place and get stitched up and whatever the hell else you need fixed. You have about ten seconds before I decide for you, so make up your mind.”

He may not spend a lot of time with this particular member of the Batfamily, but he can recognize Tim’s “thinking face”—his eyes become distant and his face relaxes in a way that it never does normally.

_Good. He’s not blowing off the threat._

“So? I’m gonna assume we’re still not calling the first two?”

He can see Tim snap back into focus, which is a bizarre thing to witness—like watching someone turn off something inside, which—it’s actually really sad. The kid sort of just shakes his head “no”.

Jason nods. “Okay. So you’re coming with me then?”

He can see the kid consider and hesitate, then nod—just barely.

“Okay.”


	2. Of Lies and Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting Tim to come quietly is easy. Getting him to tell Jason the truth is much less so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, pretty much the timeline from Final Crisis and up until Bruce became Batman again (anybody remember what issue that was?) is still the same, I just sort of adjusted the ages a little bit, because I felt it would make more sense. So, Bruce is like...30/immortal or whatever, Dick's about 22ish, Jason's 18-19ish, Tim's 15, and Damian is 10.

They don’t talk again as they, well, as _Jason_ hauled the unconscious arms dealer up and out to a street lamp, tied him back up, called the cops, and then they went back to where Jason had stashed his bike. Part of him wonders how Tim got here, but he decides that he doesn’t really want to know _or_ remind Tim that he has his own transportation.

Then comes the struggle to strong-arm Tim into some civilian clothes that Jason had in his saddlebags, because he’s sure as hell not dragging Red freaking Robin to his apartment and all Jason has to do take off his helmet and turn his jacket inside out and he looks normal.

There are a few moments at the start of the drive where Jason’s worried that Tim has passed out or something, and the kid nearly falls off twice, but everything else goes pretty smoothly. They pull up to Jason’s apartment building around three. They’re at his actual apartment, not a safe-house, because it’s closer and there are less weapons there--Jason hopes that this will cut down on the chances of trouble later.

Of course, he should have considered the fact that he does have neighbors and Mr. Castillo is always awake at this time and the Goldsteins are about the lightest sleepers he’s ever met. Tim is apparently a lot worse off than he’d admitted, because he’s gone pretty much boneless-- _although this may also be in protest over the whole thing_ \--so Jason is practically supporting him as they head inside and up the stairs.

“You know, kid, we need to work on telling the truth, because this is ridiculous.” Jason grunts, when Tim stumbles on the stairs and nearly trips them both.

“’m sorry.”

“I’ll bet.”

They make it to Jason’s floor without incident, but of course the luck doesn’t last. They round the corner and run straight into Mrs. Goldstein, who must be stepping out for a quick cigarette. The woman looks at them disconcertingly, taking in Jason’s disheveled appearance and then the way that Tim is barely upright.

“Hey, Mrs. G!” Jason manages, as brightly as possible. “How’s life?”

She raises an eyebrow and looks disapprovingly at him.

“Um…great. Well, so, this is my, uh…my brother, um…Tim.”

“What’s wrong with ‘im?” she says, a little less suspiciously.

“Oh, y’know, _kids_. Somebody went to a party, had a little too much to drink, and didn’t want our dad to find out. So…” he trails off, hoping that she’ll buy the excuse.

It takes a second, but then Mrs. Goldstein smiles and walks past them, patting Jason on the arm as she goes.

“You’re such a good boy. So sweet and responsible!” She says over her shoulder, “Have a good night.”

_Just shoot me now. No. Actually, shoot the kid now. No witnesses, no problem._

Tim snickers. “’So sweet,’” He mimics.

“I will drop you.”

“Uh-huh. That wouldn’t be very ‘sweet’.”

Jason sighs, and debates just calling Dick and not telling Tim until after he gets there. He’s a little too afraid of the kid’s ability to hold a grudge to do that. _Yet_. Other than that incident though, they make it to the door without meeting anyone. Jason lets out a long sigh of relief as soon as they’re inside and the door is shut. _Great, now there’s only one_ _problem left._

“That went well.” Jason says, only about 89% sarcastically. “Can you get to the couch on your own?”

Tim nods, pushes off Jason’s shoulder, and stumbles over to the couch, flopping down with a groan. _Who’s dramatic now?_ Jason rolls his eyes and goes to get the first aid kit, tossing “get your shirt off so we can get this done, okay?” over his shoulder.

He gets back to find that the kid had actually done what Jason had ordered, but he either passed out doing it or fell asleep-- _and, honestly? Both of these are real possibilities_. Jason considers the situation for a second, and decides to see what he can do without waking the kid up. Tim’s face-down on the couch, which effectively prevents Jason from getting at the injured shoulder. _He’s so difficult_. Jason growls in frustration, tempted to just strangle the teen while he’s asleep. Probably should leave it as a last resort. Aside from being too skinny and having a few very nasty bruises, there’s no injuries to worry about on Tim’s back. _Which means I have to do this the hard way._ Jason considers, then jabs the kid in the ribs, jumping back to avoid the flailing limbs and well-aimed palm-strike at where Jason’s head had been.

“You are so high strung. Seriously.”

Tim glares at him from the floor, where he’s landed awkwardly.

“You’re a real ass, Jason.”

“Uh-huh.” He reaches down and helps Tim back onto the couch. “You know you love me.”

He doesn’t get a response, which actually kind of hurts. _Of course, I did try to kill him several_ _times. But still._ He can see the gunshot wound now, and, while it’s not the worst he’s ever seen, it’s not pretty. Some quick prodding reveals that he’ll have to go digging for the bullet. _Fuck._

It takes about half an hour to dig the bullet out and patch the wound up. Tim’s conscious for the whole thing, and Jason is both impressed and disturbed by how quiet and still he is. _I take it_ _back. If he’s got a meta-human power, it’s the ability to act like he’s not really alive._

“Okay,” Jason says, leaning back on his heels to admire his handiwork. “anything else we need to patch up? And let’s skip the interrogation, okay. It’s been a long day,” he adds, remembering that most of his “family” has this tendency to never admit to any weakness.

Tim shifts out of his slumped position and sits up straight. And, of course, it couldn’t be that simple. The kid’s stomach is bleeding, and Jason remembers somebody— _Dick, maybe?_ —mentioning that there had been a run-in with Ra’s Al Ghul and the kid had gotten stabbed. _I thought they’d gotten that fixed._

“What’d you do, rip all the stitches?”

“Um…” Tim won’t meet his eyes. “The top two are still in.”

Jason snorts, because that is the lamest thing he’s heard in a while. “I thought you were supposed to be some sort of genius. Honestly!”

“Well, I’m sorry, but nobody told me that you could rip stitches by coughing.” Tim hisses as Jason dabs at the wound with alcohol. “Besides, I’ve kept it all wrapped and clean. It’s not that bad.”

“And you didn’t go to Alfred because?”

Tim shrugs and mumbles something about being busy. He looks pale, and Jason’s a little worried that he’ll pass-out and fall over while he’s trying to stitch it all up. At least it’s not infected.

“And Bruce let you out like this?”

A quick look at Tim’s face, and he regrets saying anything. It’s like someone just told the kid that his puppy had been run over or something. _Fuck. Foot, meet mouth._

“…I’m…not living at the Manor right now.” He says, so softly that Jason isn’t sure he’d heard right. “I’ve got a…place. Downtown.”

“What, did you get kicked out or something?” Jason meant it as a joke, but the crushed look says that that’s not how it was received. “You didn’t, right?”

Tim shakes his head mutely. After a second, he sighs, and murmurs “No. Got emancipated.”

“I thought you had to be, like, seventeen for that to happen.” Jason says, finishing the last stitch. “Or did I get that wrong?”

“Yeah, well. Money opens doors, y’know?” He looks down like he’s checking the stitch-job. “All done?”

Jason nods. “Yeah, just let me get it covered up.” And figure out what to say to that statement.

He patches the wound in silence, and Tim seems fine with that. The silence lasts as he cleans up the supplies and goes to put the kit away. Jason spends a little bit longer than necessary putting stuff away and washing his hands, trying to figure out what to do next. By the time he comes back to the living room, Tim’s fast asleep on the couch, laying sideways with his head resting at an awkward angle on the arm. It hurts Jason’s neck just looking at it. _Or maybe he’s some new species of feline. It would explain the not blinking._

He debates leaving the kid on the couch— _he looks happy there_ —but he can’t justify it enough. _And if he bleeds, he’s gonna ruin my couch. It’s a nice couch and it isn’t stained up yet._

So he hauls the kid up, trying not to rip the stitches, and drags Tim into the bedroom and onto the bed. He figures that Tim can get under the blankets by himself— _it seems to be one of his talents: avoiding conversations, kicking ass, and finding heat sources on autopilot._ He smiles at the image, and grabs a blanket.  _We'll work on the whole "telling the truth" thing tomorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a round of applause to my darling friend, the talented StarPrincessTally for being my beta and keeping me from making horrible choices and torturing everyone with choppy dialogues. Check her out on YouTube sometime, she's awesome. ;)


	3. Not without Class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it is established that the entire Batfamily is paranoid and booby-trap everything, Jason can cook, and Tim doesn't sulk (in his opinion).

Jason didn’t actually get around to sleeping. He had to get himself cleaned up— _no real damage, but damn, a few of those bruises are gonna hurt later._ Then he had to get the gear cleaned up and put away, which took forever, because he didn’t want to leave Tim’s uniform in the saddlebag, and it was still soaked in now-congealed blood, so then he had to get everything electronic off without getting hurt— _of_ course _the kid has booby-traps on his suit—_ and put the suit in the wash with some of his stuff. After that, he was hungry and he also had to call Roy to chew him out about the lack of ammunition.

So he put a pot on the stove to boil— _because pasta’s cheap—_ and called his sort-of best friend. _Please don’t let me go to voicemail! It’s the most godawful and annoying message in the world._

“This is Roy!”

“Oh, thank God,” Jason sighs. “Hey, so—“

“I’m busy talking to somebody more interesting right now, so, y’know, do your thing when this thing beeps.”

“Oh. My. God. Kuddos on changing it, but seriously, Roy? It’s just as bad as the last one—‘I’m off saving the galaxy right now, so leave a message and may the Force be with you!’ Do you _want_ everyone to think you’re…you know what? Never mind. You kindly call me and explain why the fuck you only made two clips for your stupid guns? Like, what the fuck man!?! You coulda gotten me _killed._ Again! Call me.” He jabs fiercely at the screen to end the call.

_Wish I hadn’t upgraded to a touch-screen, because it’s a whole lot less satisfying to hang up by poking the screen instead of slamming it shut. I miss my flip-phone. Do they still sell them? I’ll bet they still sell them. Gotta ask Tim or Alfred or something, they’d know._

He was still musing over the various merits of flip-phone vs. smart-phone technology when he started the sauce— _a_ real _sauce, because we’re not totally without class._ He couldn’t remember if this kid was the one who wouldn’t eat meat—he was pretty sure Dick had mentioned something about that, but the moron never really specified anything, and normally Jason didn’t ask. He just listened to the older man chatter on about whatever, because if he didn’t focus too hard, he could pretend that things were good between them, like they’d almost been when he’d died.

 _Because I’m a nostalgic idiot._ Jason thought, hearing movement from the bedroom, followed by some cursing, presumably when Tim attempted to open the window and climb out. He grinned, picturing the scene in his mind. _You’re not the only one who booby-traps things, asshole._

He settled for a smirk and not saying anything to the kid, because he didn’t really want to fight over something that stupid. The cursing has subsided by the time the teen emerged from the room, but he still had a nasty scowl on his face. Jason acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow and a “sleep okay?

“Your window _burned_ me.”

“Technically, it was an electric shock.”

“Right.”

“It is. How long did you hold onto it?”

Tim didn’t deign him with a response.

“Are you kidding me?” Jason had to question the life-preservation skills of his “family” sometimes. “You’re _supposed_ to let it _go_ when it shocks you, not hold on tighter.”

Tim scowled and flopped down on the stool by the counter.

"Windows aren’t supposed to shock you to begin with.” He said, like this was an affront to nature or something.

“In this family? They are.” Jason grinned as he moved the pot of sauce off the burner and to the counter. “Do you need ice, or are you done being a baby now?”

He received a snort in response. _Good. I’m glad to see there’s still a sense of humor in there somewhere._ Jason was starving still, so he piled a ton of pasta onto his plate and settled against the counter.

“You gonna eat or sulk some more?”

The kid eyed him like he was speaking a different language. “I am _not_ ‘sulking’.”

“Sure.”

“I’m _not!”_ Tim scowled. “And no thanks. I’m not really hungry.”

Jason debated rolling his eyes at that tantrum, but decided that he probably shouldn’t goad the kid on. “Sure. You do realize that you’re not actually supposed to be able to count your ribs, right?”

He got a glare in response.

_Great. Let’s do this the hard way then._

“Okay…so…you have two choices here, kiddo. One, you can grab a plate and eat some pasta, by which I mean _a full serving_ of pasta. Or two, I can drug you, tie you up, and then call Alfred.”

“Since when did you become my dad?” Tim snapped, doing an excellent job looking like an affronted five-year-old instead of a fifteen-year-old. “Or, for that matter, when did you start caring?”

_Since you decided to start looking more like a scarecrow than a kid. Since I’m trying to be a good person. Since somebody obviously needs to take care of you. Since…I honestly don’t know. It just sort of happened._

“I don’t. But clearly, that’s a reoccurring theme for you right now. So I’m filling in. Now,” He stood up straighter, because he’s not above intimidation tactics, “do I need to get out the duct tape, or can we just eat dinner like two normal vigilantes?”

They have a staring contest for what feels like forever, but then the kid groans and throws his hands up.

“Fine. You win. Pass me a plate.”

Jason grins. _I win, asshole._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the whole "May the Force be with you" thing is actually what you here when you get my voicemail. I was young and stupid and can't figure out how to change it. So now all my friends, coworkers, and boss get to hear what a nerd I am!  
> A very short chapter, because I'm fighting with the next bit and also because I'm fighting spotty internet! So we have a lot of dialogue and some fluff. I swear, the next chapter will pick up again, which is part of why it's taking forever.  
> Hope you guys like it, and please, feel free to make suggestions about ways to improve, or how you think the story should go. I could use the inspiration!


	4. Netflix and Kill?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jason plays nanny, Tim is tired, and Roy has done it again.

After they’ve eaten, Jason goes to do the dishes and Tim settles on the edge of the counter top to watch. Jason’s back is turned and he seems to be ignoring Tim, but Tim knows he’s not. Jason’s a Bat, even if he claims differently. _And Bats are never off guard._

Tim’s still not sure what he’s doing here, what Jason’s doing, or what he expects Tim to do now. What Tim would like to do is just leave—it’s only six a.m., and he can still get in an hour of down time before he has to go to Wayne Enterprises. Remembering where he’s staying and what he’s supposed to be doing makes him tired though, and he feels the pasta sitting like a rock in his stomach.

_When's the last time I actually ate? Maybe I should have taken it slower, that's what you're supposed to do when you don't eat regularly, right?_

Jason starts humming some tune that Tim vaguely recognizes—he’s really only familiar with his own tastes, because nobody else ever really played anything at his parents' house or in the cave, and he tends to zone out when there’s music in public spaces. _Lynyrd Skynyrd? Gordon Lightfoot, maybe?_ He doesn’t really care that much; it sounds nice and he’s pretty sure it’s going to be stuck in his head. _Jason does have a good voice though._

Jason dries the last dish and lets it land on the others with a clatter. He sees Tim jump out of the corner of his eye, and winces internally. It’s really starting to bother him—the way the kid’s entire demeanor changes whenever he remembers there’s another person in the room. It makes him want to just hug the kid until he believes that he’s safe _and_ punch him in the face so he stops making Jason feel guilty, all at the same time. _Probably wouldn’t help anything. Might make it worse, honestly._ Jason muses, wiping the counter to buy more time. He’s not really sure what he should do about it. _It’s not even my problem, really. I’m not his damn parent or anything._

He pauses, thinking for a second about how Bruce has changed, because he’s not the same loving parent that Jason remembers. He’s a lot colder, more reserved, and, while Jason knows that Bruce still cares, he also knows that it’s entirely possible that neither Tim nor Damian, even, would know that. They never got to really meet the same Bruce he had.

 _Still, they had Dick. Hell, I didn’t really get to have that sort of relationship. Of course, that really doesn’t replace having a dad, I guess._ Jason has started on the table now, still trying to keep from actually having to deal with the teen sitting against the counter, watching him warily.

_Great, kid. The feeling is mutual. Of course, Bruce probably encouraged that paranoia—it seems like that’s one of his new themes. I don’t suppose anyone pointed this out to him either. Like, hey! You’re fucking up this kid. Try being the father you were for me._

Jason doesn’t think Bruce would have liked that much. He imagines that Dick probably has said something, to little effect. _But Dick would have tried to be nicer—I know he tried to be a better brother after me—a little late, but hey, nice effort. Of course, he also ditched the older model as soon as the new one came in. I mean, no matter how he tries to paint it, he did let Damian be Robin and replace The Replacement, even though Tim was still there and totally not onboard. Not cool. Probably didn’t help whatever trust issues he’s got going on.  
_

Tim’s watching closely now, because he can tell that Jason is both stalling and watching like he’s a puzzle that Jason wants to solve. Tim hates it when people make that face, when they try to figure out whatever it is they think is wrong with him. It wouldn’t be so bad if they’d help him fix it. But they don’t ever fix him—they just tell him what he’s doing wrong, how he’s wrong, and then they leave him to fix it alone. But Tim doesn’t know how to fix himself. He doesn’t really want to hear whatever Jason finds wrong with him. Jason’s told him enough over the years. He knows that, yes, Jason was crazy back then, but he wasn’t all wrong.

He was right about a lot of things then: that Tim was a pathetic replacement, that he didn’t belong in the uniform. Tim had already known that. He just wanted to fix things, to help Bruce, and then Jason came back, and he had wanted to fix Jason, because then he wouldn’t have to be a replacement anymore and maybe that'd fix whatever was broken in Bruce. That didn’t happen, obviously. And Tim is tired. Jason is still staring, and he shifts, uncomfortably. He’s tired and doesn’t want to do this right now. _Or ever._ He also doesn’t want to go back to his apartment, with its silence and emptiness, where he is surrounded by only his thoughts and failings. Here, it’s warm and _alive._ Jason, Tim has long known, has a unique talent in making everything feel alive and vibrant and real. It’s nice, except for when it isn’t. _Like right now._

He debates running, but doubts he’d get far before Jason stopped him. _And why would Jason do that? Why is he doing any of this?_ Tim thinks that it might be a trick, but if so, he’s not sure what the end goal would be. He doesn't think that Jason wants to kill him anymore, but maybe he’s wrong? Or maybe this is a trap for someone else, and Tim’s bait? _But none of that makes sense._

Jason has run out of things to clean and time to think. Which, he’s come to realize, is pretty much the defining feature of this endeavor. He’s also honestly surprised that Tim hasn’t tried to run for it, but he supposes that even The Replacement has some common sense left. _Not enough to tell the truth when he’s hurt, but enough to not directly attempt futile or suicidal plans._ The silence is growing awkward, and now the teen’s decided on a defiant scowl in reaction to Jason’s staring. He raises an eyebrow when Jason catches his eye, and he’d be damned if it doesn’t seem like a challenge— _what are you going to do now_?

He decides to extend the olive branch, so to speak.

“Okay. So…wanna watch a movie?”

Tim blinks like he’s just said the stupidest, most random thing in the world. “Um, what?”

“A _movie.”_ Jason says slowly, enunciating each syllable. “You know? Where there’s a moving picture and music and people watch it?”

“I _know_ what a movie is!”                 

“So, do you?”

Tim nods very slowly, like he still thinks it might be a trap.

“Cool,” Jason says, heading towards the living rooms, sensing Tim moving to join him. “so, do we want popcorn too, or…?”

Tim can feel his stomach lurch at the _thought_ of popcorn. He must look about as sick as he now feels, because Jason frowns and asks if he’s okay. _Which is the question of the hour—am I okay? Have I_ ever _been okay?_ He doesn’t really have an answer, and his stomach is doing back-flips, which makes it hard to come up with anything. He's afraid to open his mouth right now.

Jason’s pretty sure that turning green is not a normal reaction to popcorn. _He had better_ not _puke on my carpet!_ he thinks, turning quickly, snatching up the trashcan from the corner, and shoving it under the kid’s face right as he proceeds to empty his stomach. It’s honestly an impressive display of reflexes, and Jason would be pleased if he wasn’t busy trying not to sympathy puke and keep the trashcan steady. And since the kid is heaving so hard that he’s about to fall over, now Jason’s trying to keep that from happening too.

It’s almost five minutes before Tim stops heaving, and Jason decides that’s a good a chance as any to haul the kid onto the couch, grab another trashcan, hand Tim the empty receptacle, and take the other one to the kitchen. He grabs some towels while he’s in there, and wets one. He also gets a cup of water. _You_ so  _owe me._ He comes back in and hands the wet towel over.

“Here, clean yourself up. And _do not_ put that can down, just in case, okay? You’ll be cleaning it up if you spew anywhere else!”

The only answer is a tired sigh as the kid hands back the towel. Jason grins and hands him the glass. Tim drains that quickly, and hands it back over. He looks a little less green, a lot paler, and Jason just hopes that this means he won’t puke again. He takes the towel and the cup into the kitchen, refills the cup and grabs himself a bag of chips (now he’s not gonna be able to eat popcorn for a while, _thanks Tim)_.

He flops onto the couch, passing the cup to Tim, then turns on the T.V. They both settle back against the couch as Jason finds a horrible sci-fi B movie he likes. Tim’s half asleep already, which Jason will take as a good sign. He’s a little worried that the stitches may have popped from the violent heaving, but since there’s no blood visible, he decides to leave it alone. There’s no point in starting an argument now. He turns to watch the movie, feeling the weariness coming over him after the long night.

\---

Jason must have fallen asleep, because the sudden crash sends him flying off the couch and onto the floor. He looks around blearily, trying to understand why there are men coming into his apartment. He’s moving on instinct, going for the gun he’s stashed under the couch cushion.

Something hits him in the back of the head, hard enough to send him down again. Jason’s officially pissed off, and lands a well-aimed kick on his assailant’s knee, smashing it. _Hopefully._

He tries hard to snap out of the fog the blow created. Jason curses under his breath, rolling over in the hopes of seeing his next target. He’s groping for the gun, but suddenly, he remembers that he’d let Roy have it, and… _he hasn’t returned it? Not good. Jesus, Roy! I’m gonna kill you when this is over!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the pov switches made sense to ya'll. Lemme know! I'm trying to work on that, so apologies. I'll probably go back to one pov in the next chapter, but idk yet. I sort of liked the way this read, so we'll see!
> 
> Sorry that it took forever. I moved (hallelujah!) and then I got super sick and couldn't do anything. But we're back in business now! School doesn't start for another month, so I'm gonna see if I can get this story finished! I've got a lot planned still, but we'll see.


	5. Everything Hurts Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason loses a fight, Tim is easily annoyed, and we get a villain!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for mentions of nasty injuries and some violence.

He tries to get a handle on the situation, trying to get a count of the attackers. His head is clearing, but not fast enough to avoid a sudden kick to his diaphragm. Jason doubles over, trying to protect himself from more blows. A sudden stream of cursing from Tim's direction reminds him that— _oh yeah—_ he’s got back up…injured back up. _Fuck._ The situation is spiraling out of control faster than Jason can move.

There’s a startling yelp of pain from Tim, and Jason decides on a desperate, stupid lunge for the nearest guy with a gun. His vision is cleared and he hits the man hard, sending them both down. He grapples the gun away, and whirls around, trying to figure out who’s in charge. The room is too small for him to really shoot anybody unless he’s got a perfect shot. His back against the wall gives him the space to see what’s going on and weigh in on the situation.  This is not a heartening thing.

There are five guys, and four of them are armed (well, there _had_ been five, but Jason’s got that gun now), and three of them are aiming their weapons back at him. The fourth man has a good grip on Tim’s injured arm and has successfully maneuvered himself into a position behind the teen, gun pressed firmly against the back of the boy’s head. Jason can tell that the kid had put up a good fight—the man’s nose is most definitely broken and he’s breathing hard, wincing a little with each inhale: broken ribs. Unfortunately, it seems to have gone both ways, and, if the stitches hadn’t been ripped earlier, they definitely were now—Jason can see the blood seeping through Tim’s shirt.

 _There’s no way to do this…_ Jason considers his options. He could try to shoot around Tim, but if he misses, that’s a whole new set of problems. He can try to take out the others, but, again, Tim will probably end up shot, and that’s not an acceptable loss, not after the work he’s just put into keeping the kid alive. _That’s becoming a recurring theme. Plus, that’d definitely put a damper on my relationship with Goldie and BatDad._ He flips the safety back on and drops the gun.

This apparently counts as a signal for the other guys to quickly proceed to beat the shit out of Jason. _It’s amazing how an unarmed, defenseless opponent makes men braver._ His head is ringing badly as the blows land, and he _thinks_ he can hear Tim shouting something, but all he really gets is a pounding, ringing, throbbing pain in his temples. Then there’s another blow, one that makes his thoughts completely float away as his consciousness faded out.

\-------------

He wakes up with a pounding headache and the nagging sense that he’s going to be in trouble with Bruce. Not that that’s new, but it seems more urgent than usual, so Jason’s a little concerned. Unfortunately, the headache isn’t helping him remember what it is, and neither is the way somebody’s shaking him, which— _oh, wait. I remember now!—_ Jason’s new goal is to just pass back out and avoid dealing with this stuff now. Unfortunately, he’s also got this ridiculous sense of responsibility keeping him from actually going through with it…also, Tim’s now added urgently hissing Jason’s name to the shaking, and it’s painful enough to be an incentive to wake up.

“Stop doing that!” he groans, probably sounding a lot angrier than he really is. “’M awake.”

“Sorry.” Tim says, stopping. “You were out for a while, and I was starting to get worried. Oh, and your arm’s—“

Jason’s hiss of pain when he tries to put weight on it cuts him off.

“—Broken.” Tim finishes, moving back a little in case Jason pukes…or lashes out at him. _Which is still totally a possibility, okay?_ He waits warily, while Jason lets loose a stream of cursing and maneuvers into a more-or-less upright position.

Jason takes the opportunity to look around while doing this. They’re in a dark, damp room— _probably a basement._ The floor’s cement, as are the walls, and there is a set of stairs leading up to a door— _definitely a basement._ The only light in the room is what has filtered through from a window that’s been painted over. There’s no clear way out. _Fuck._ As soon as Jason’s settled this, he decides to tackle the arm injury first, because it hurts like hell and if he doesn’t deal with it now, he’s not gonna deal with it at all. A quick inspection reveals that it’s not a bad break— _not that that makes it hurt any less—_ which can be easily set, especially with help.

Speaking off…he should probably tell the kid to stop staring at him like he’s a serial killer. _Not that the description’s_ entirely _inaccurate, but still._ Because he can’t find any way of saying as much, he decides to try small talk.

“You have any idea of where we are?” _Okay, well, it’s small talk in the Batfamily. Sue me._

The kid shakes his head. “Uh-uh.” And then after a beat, “sorry.”

“Great,” Jason deadpans.

“Well,” Tim says, clearly feeling a need to defend his answer. “I-it was dark, and I was mostly asleep at first, a-and they, um, I...”

“Dude! I didn’t mean it like _that._ ”

“Oh.”

They sit there awkwardly, Jason cataloging his other injuries— _definitely a concussion, probably some cracked ribs, and a ton of bruises—_ and Tim picks at the hem of his shirt. After a few minutes, Jason decides to try and set his arm alone, mostly because he knows that Tim’s got so much perfectionism in him that he’ll stop Jason from actually fucking up his own arm— _hopefully._ That hunch proves correct, and his arm feels a lot better after it’s been set. Tim’s still fuming about the stunt, and it’s honestly really funny to Jason. Not that he’ll show it, because he’s still slightly terrified of The Replacement’s cold, calculating revenge.

Of course, it’s hard to remember this when said kid is pouting at him, _literally pouting_ , like, arms-crossed-lower-lip-stuck-out _pouting_ , and wearing baggy clothes that make him look, like, twelve. Jason bites his lip to keep from saying something regrettable, and suddenly remembers that Tim’s probably hurt too, pretty badly if the stitches popped. Now that he’s thinking about this, he really registers the way the kid’s face is tensed and pale, and that the shirt he’s wearing is definitely stained with blood.

 _I’m going to kill him if he dies on me. I swear. I will_ legit _throw him in a Lazarus Pit, and then I’ll_ murder _him again. Seriously, after all this?!? Where is the trust?_

He’s totally aware of the irony of the situation, but that’s not going to stop him from being just a _little_ pissed off. It’s like Tim’s got some sort of sixth sense about that sort of thing, because he’s got the cornered animal look again, and he’s watching Jason intently. _Great._

“You okay?” Jason asks tentatively.

The boy nods. _It would be a lot more convincing if you didn’t look like you’re gonna pass out while you do it._

“Okay,” Jason say, massaging his temples to stave off another wave of searing pain in his head. “I’m gonna ask _one more time._ And you _will_ answer honestly, or I _will hold you down and decide for myself whether you’re ‘okay’ or not.”_ He takes a deep breath, then grits out “Got it?”

Tim stares blankly at him, blinking slowly. His eyes have gotten so wide, he looks like a cartoon character. _If only he were as harmless as one._ Jason’s seriously hoping that he doesn’t have to make good on his threat, because he’s not sure that it would end well for either party.

The kid tries staring silently for another few seconds, then mutters “it’s bleeding some,” And “hurts.”

Jason sighs, because it shouldn’t be so hard to wrangle confessions out of his “brothers”. But it is. He’s not sure why, but it is.

“Okay,” he says, because what else is he supposed to say? “Okay. Let’s see it then.”

It’s not a pretty sight, and Jason has to bite his lips again to keep from swearing. The stitches are all ripped out, except for one, which Jason feels is symbolic of the entire time they’ve just spent together. Of course, one suture isn’t going to make that big of a difference and it’s not like Jason has the stuff to stitch it up again anyway. Actually, he’s not entirely sure what to do about it.

What they _need_ is to figure out what’s going on; they _need_ to get out of here; they _need_ to get Tim stitched up and to stop ripping them back out. What they’ve _got_ is a stomach wound that won’t stop bleeding, no idea where they are, and no idea how to fix any of it.

He’s pretty sure that Tim knows it too, but he still fakes a sort-of smile. “Well, it could be worse.”

“How?” the kid couldn’t sound more skeptical if he tried. “How could it be worse?”

“Well, you could be tied up, half-dead, in a warehouse that’s about to explode!”

He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. Tim shrinks back like he’s been slapped, curling in on himself like he’s trying to be less of a target. _Well, I fucked that up. It was a_ joke, _okay?_

Jason’s still trying to decide how to fix this latest fuck up when the door slams open, and six or seven men come stomping down the stairs. They’re definitely the posturing, only-happy-when-they’ve-got-the-upper-hand types. He’s actually happy with this—guys like them are easy to deal with. But the man who follows after them is definitely not. Coming down the stairs is Thomas Elliot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for frequent updates! I'll be honest--I was a little drugged for part of this, so it may not make sense to anyone now. Lemme know, 'kay?  
> Suggestions, critiques, etc. are welcome and appreciated. Just be nice so I don't cry :P


	6. Impudence and Childish Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hush is ominous, but Bats are harder to intimidate than he thought.

Thomas Elliot, also known as Hush, is a man who’s already proven that he’s both smart and crazy enough to try and take over Wayne Enterprises more than once. Jason vaguely remembers that Dick and Tim had black-mailed him into pretending to be Bruce, back when Bruce had “died”. He’s pretty sure there’s some serious hate going on now from that. Tim apparently agrees, because he breathes out “fuck” under his breath. Jason nods, echoing the sympathy in his head. _Fuck._

Hush— _he’s being a_ villain, _okay? He’s not some rich guy named Thomas, he’s the bad guy right now—_ Hush is standing at the base of the stairs, hands on hips, smirking in a manner that’s incredibly infuriating. It’s actually worse, because the guy looks _just like_ Bruce in all areas except his eyes. Jason finds this to be wholly disconcerting, and he knows that the man can tell.

“Well, I see that you’ve both made it here in one piece,” he says, and Jason almost jumps, because he’s definitely good at sounding just like Bruce too. “That’s…unexpected. Honestly.”

Tim snorts derisively at the statement. “Sure. You _totally_ thought we’d have trouble with a couple of armed assholes.”

Jason can tell already that there’s going to be trouble—it’s written all over their bodies. He shifts himself slightly so that he’s as in-between Hush and Tim as he can be. Hush raises an eyebrow at the gesture, skeptical.

“I thought you were the black sheep of the family, Todd.”

Jason decides to ignore the comment.

“My brother’s hurt.” He states coolly. “He needs a doctor.”

“Does he now?” Jason can feel himself tensing, because there’s a cruel note in the man’s voice. “Well, isn’t that a shame? And when, exactly, did you decide that you were brothers? I would think you’d be thanking me. After all, hasn’t that been a goal of yours for years now? Your replacement, helpless and injured—totally at your mercy? Or am I confusing you with _another_ Jason Peter Todd?”

The words have the desired effect: Tim shifts as far away from Jason as he can, eyeing him like he’s a threat, and Jason, well, he’s speechless. There’s no way to argue, no point in denying. This man has had an unprecedented view into the inner-workings of the Wayne family. _Everything_ he’s just said had been true. He knows it, and their reactions only further confirm it.

 “So what do you want?” Jason finally asks, voice heavy and tired. _He must want_ something.

“Now _that’s_ an intelligent question. Good job.” The man says condescendingly. “What do I want? Well, let. Me. See…” he punctuates each word with a long stride forward, until he’s looming directly over Jason. “I was interested in acquiring your unique…services. As the Red Hood, of course. You’ve made quite the impression.”

Jason’s just staring, mouth agape. _He_ can’t _be serious. Can he?_

“Of course, there were slight…complications,” Hush says, gesturing at Tim, who flips him off in response. “Charming.” He turns his gaze fully on Jason. “But, honestly, I think we can still work this to our mutual benefit.”

“Um…” Jason stutters, still trying to decide if the man’s serious or not. “ _What?_ I mean, what the hell would make you _think_ I’d be interested in working for you?”

He knows that his stalling strategy is painfully obvious to everyone, but it’s all he’s got. He can hear Tim breathing hard behind him— _probably wondering who’s side I’m on here—_ and he doesn’t miss the amused look that passes across the creep’s face— _oh, he totally thinks he’s got me right where he wants me…and he’s probably right._ Jason realizes, with a sinking heart, that there’s no clear way out.

“Well, _Red Hood,_ it was hard to miss the ads.” And he pulls out his phone, where one of the “Dial-a-Hero” ads that Roy had published all over the internet— _without my consent, for the record!--_ is playing on a loop.

“I have _nothing to do with those!”_ Jason denies angrily. _Roy is so,_ so _dead._

“I’m sure. Well, all copyrights aside, it’s quite clear that you could use the money. And I am willing to pay handsomely for your services.”

Jason sputters, but finally decides on a “Nah, I’m good,” which was probably not the wisest choice, but it felt right.

Plus, the look on the villain’s face was wonderful—almost exactly like Bruce’s disbelieving expression. It was a rare look on the Bat’s face, and it still felt satisfying to see, even if the man before him was just an imposter. But he immediately starts to regret that decision when he sees how dark the man’s expression has turned. Jason manages to prepare for the blow that’s aimed at his head, dodging so it grazes him. It still hurts, but it’s nowhere as debilitating as it could have been. The kick that follows is too fast for him to really prepare, and he’s instantly winded and doubles over in pain.

“You know, that’s a real problem you people seem to have. Here I am, trying to be generous and fair, and what do I get in return?” Hush emphasizes the question, grabbing Jason’s hair and forcing him to look up until their eyes meet. “I get impudence. Impudence and childish taunts.”

He releases Jason, stepping back to look coolly at both teens. _Not good._ A smile slowly creeps across his face, so cruel and twisted that it looks completely wrong on the familiar face. _Very not good._

“Perhaps a little incentive is in order?” he says ominously. Then he nods to his men. Jason’s still winded and thrown by the earlier expression, and the attack is quick and efficient—within seconds, both boys have been effectively disarmed and restrained.  

If there’s one thing to be said for The Replacement, it’s that he never seems to give up. Despite being weak from his injuries and clearly in pain, he’s still got the most defiant expression Jason has ever seen. He’s scowling at Hush, occasionally struggling in an attempt to gain some ground, although his small size is clearly a disadvantage here. Jason’s honestly impressed…and a little embarrassed at being the more passive of the two.

“This is your plan?” Tim says, scathingly. “I’m actually disappointed. Really, _Tommy_? The intimidation tactics are inane, your dramatic entrance was, quite frankly, archaic, and your threats are mediocre. I know _ten-year-olds_ with better threats than you! Where's the 'incentive' bit?”

Jason’s actually beginning to wonder if this kid has a death wish. Why else would _anyone_ insult a maniac threatening their life, let alone use nicknames? He stares hard at the kid, trying to convey “shut up” with his eyes. Tim ignores him.

 _Typical. When we die, please let the records show that this was actually_ not _my fault. For once._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite parts of Tim's character is how he really just doesn't give up. Like, the kid can literally be gutted, and he'll still sit there and be a sarcastic little shit! Also, since I already threw the timeline out the window a while ago, I decided to throw in a reference to the Arsenal and the Red Hood comics, because I love them and they are way underrated!  
> Not sure how I'm doing with Hush's character. He's a really nifty villain and I hope that I'm doing him justice. For those who don't know, Thomas Elliot was actually Bruce's childhood best friend. Unfortunately, he's also kinda paranoid/crazy and also a genius. He tries to take out Bruce several times, most noticeably when he works with Clayface to impersonate Jason (who's still dead at the time). He also performs plastic surgery on himself to make his face look just like Bruce's. Unfortunately for him, Alfred is not very easily fooled, and he's caught quickly. He sort of disappears, until Bruce "dies". The Batfamily decides to use Thomas, now called Hush, as a stand-in, so people won't suspect anything. He's really not pleased with the situation and tries to sabotage them several times, but ultimately fails.  
> Anyway, I was thinking about how much inside info he must have got while pretending to be Bruce. Like, even if the kids kept most of it out of his reach, he still knows all their secret identities, and he'd easily be able to find out a whole lot of other info using his position. So I decided to make him my villain! Lemme know what ya'll think! :D


	7. He's Crazy...Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason needs to ditch his morals--he's pretty sure they'll get one of them killed soon if he doesn't.

Apparently, Hush doesn’t take kindly to taunting from skinny teenagers. He slams his fist into Tim’s unprotected stomach twice, causing the boy to cry out in pain and eliciting a very colorful protest from Jason.  

“Now, as I was saying before I was so _rudely interrupted_ ,” the man says pointedly. “Incentives. Well, I should think that perhaps _getting out alive_ would motivate most people. However, you _are_ one of Bruce’s…spawn, so _of course_ that wouldn’t suffice.”

Here, he pauses, probably noting Jason’s dramatic eye roll.

“Honestly, why do I even bother? Okay, I’ll try using phrases that even _you_ can understand, street rat.”

_Oh, nice. Throw in a childhood insult, that’s good. I’m not five anymore…and if I can stop gritting my teeth, maybe he’ll try something else…_

“You can complete the tasks I need done and _live,_ or you can not, and we’ll see just how long it takes for both of you to die. For instance: how long it would take for a stomach wound,” he nods at Tim, “to bleed out or go septic? Or perhaps we’ll find out how well you can swim with a broken arm,” Hush snarls, grabbing Jason’s injured arm and twisting in roughly.

It’s all Jason can do not to scream from the pain. So, as a distraction, he jerks his head forward, neatly smashing into Hush’s nose. The man drops his arm instantly, and Jason grins viciously in spite of the tears of pain welling in his eyes.

“Better watch out,” he taunts. “My arm may be broken, but the rest of me works just fine!”

“Okay, you little son-of-a-bitch, if that’s how you want to play this,” the villain snarls, wiping the blood off his face. “Two can play at this game.”

He squats down until he’s at Jason’s level, speaking so softly that Jason can barely hear him.

“I know how you work, Jason.” The man whispers. “I know _everything_ about you. I know what your nightmares are. What your favorite things are. _And,_ ” he says, leaning forward, but staying out of Jason’s range. “I know what motivates you. You, my boy, are willing to give all, you’re willing to _die_ for what you believe in…and also out of sheer stubborn spite. You’d be more than willing to sit here and starve to death. However,” and there’s a terrifying, cruel grin on his face, “you are _weak._ You refuse to allow others to play such games. You _care._ You’ll never sacrifice another person at almost any cost. So I know how this will play out: _you_ won’t allow _him,”_ he nods in Tim’s direction, “to die. That’s your weakness. You’re going to do as I want, because I _will_ kill him; gladly, to be honest. I’ll make sure it’s long and agonizing, and you _know_ that I’m not one to bluff.”

“I think you’ve officially lost it. As you pointed out, I _want_ him dead.” Jason denies vehemently. “I’m not about to do what you want just because you’ll kill the kid.”

 _It’s a lie. It’s a total lie, and he knows it. Fuck. There’s no winning this. I’ve got no clue what he wants, but it_ can’t _be good. But I’ve already established that I’ve officially decided to_ not _kill the kid today. Fuck._

Hush has sat quietly, observing him. Now he stands up and says softly, “I’m sure.” He turns and addresses the room at large. “I think Jason needs some time to think things over. Let’s give him some space, shall we?”

And with that, he turns and walks up the stairs, signaling for his men to follow. Jason realizes suddenly that they’re going to take Tim with them. He sees the same realization dawning on the younger boy’s face as well, and then the kid starts struggling weakly, silently. It’s as though he’s putting all his energy into trying to get free, which, Jason knows, is probably not that far from the truth. Jason wants to scream, to shout at them to stop, to leave his little brother alone— _when did Tim stop being just The Replacement, and start being anything more?—_ but he can’t seem to get the words out.

It’s as though his body has stopped obeying commands, even as the men holding him let go, throwing him to the ground. He lands hard on his bad arm, and the pain is enough to make his vision go black for a few seconds…maybe longer, because when it clears, he’s alone and can hear the door being secured from the other side. He wants to sob and scream and curse. _I want my dad,_ he realizes, choking back an angry sob. _I don’t care if it means he’ll be pissed because Tim got hurt, well, more hurt, on my watch. I don’t know what to do right now!_ There’s also a part of him that wants to make sure that the man upstairs isn’t actually Bruce; that his dad isn’t actually punishing him somehow, playing mind-games to an end that only he understands.

Jason sits there for what feels like an eternity, trying to get ahold of himself. Finally, he inhales shakily and climbs to his feet. He needs to find a way out, or at least something to use as a weapon. A frantic scan of the room reconfirms that there is indeed nothing to be had…unless he manages to pry a board off the stairs. He’s always been someone who was happiest with an objective, and he’s positively giddy as he wrenches the bottom step’s boards off, wood splintering and groaning with the effort. It doesn’t take long for him to dismantle the step and reduce it to several lengths of splintered wood. _It looks like kindling._

Jason uses the second sturdiest piece to splint his arm, hoping to avoid further injury later. The remaining pieces could be used for weapons—crappy weapons—but weapons none the less.

There are two nails sticking out of the end of one, so there’s some small potential. Jason’s worked with worse. Now, all he has to do is wait for the opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank the people who've taken the time to leave comments for me. Ya'll are so sweet and it means a lot to me! You guys rock and you're a big part of why I've kept working on this thing. Thanks so much!
> 
> Anyways, things are picking up, and poor Jason's stuck in the middle. Mwahaha, I'm enjoying myself so much right now >:D


	8. Intimidation and Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason wants some answers...and to beat the crap out of some jerks with a broken board.

After a few hours, Jason’s grown restless and starts to pace. The silence has allowed his darker thoughts to come out and torment him. He’s considered that this could be karma or some sort of comeuppance for his actions in the past. After that little gem, he started counting the wooden beams holding up the foundation of the building. He was trying everything to keep the dark thoughts from invading.

Pace-- _what're they doing to Tim?--_ Count tiles-- _what does Hush want me to do anyway?--_ meditation-- _Bruce is going to_ kill _me!--_ running through some katas-- _And if_ Bruce _doesn't,_ Dick will, _and he'll do it twice: once by beating me to death, then again with being overbearing and apologetic--_ punching the wall-- _If I shatter my hand, will I die from an infection faster than I will with just the arm?--_ humming tunes-- _I'm going to kill Tim for this--_ singing softly-- _I've gotta kill Roy first though: I_ cannot believe _he still has those ads out!--_ take a nap-- _Will dying the second time suck as much, since I know what to expect?_

But nothing he’s tried seemed to work. _I’ll lose it if I sit here any longer,_ he realizes grimly. _It’s time to_ do _something._

Which is why he climbs to the top of the stairs and proceeds to slam his fist against the door several times, shouting “Hey, I made up my mind! Hey!” for good measure. It takes a few minutes, but he finally hears someone approaching. Jason feels a feral grin slowly spread across his face as he slides to the side, out of sight, and readies his improvised weapon. _This will be fun!_

The man who opens the door is a few inches shorter than Jason, and clearly not the smartest fellow around—he doesn’t even bother to check the sides of the entryway before stepping in, clearly expecting Jason to be near the bottom. _It’s almost_ too _easy,_ Jason thinks, grinning even wider, as he slams his bludgeon into the back of the man’s unprotected head. The fellow goes down like a sack of bricks. Jason pauses to check and ensure that the man is still breathing—he is. Then he moves quickly and quietly up the stairs and out into the hall, shutting and locking the door quietly behind him.

There’s no other closed doors in the hall and a quick glance in tells him there's no one there, so he leaves it quickly, exiting into a larger room. It’s bare and filthy, but Jason finally has an idea of where he is—it’s an abandoned crack house, near the docks--he can smell the water from here. The building is damp and mildewing, the wood rotting, wallpaper peeling off the walls in sheets. There’s a disgusting carpet that still remains in patches, giving the floor an illusion of holes. Jason’s pretty sure that the walls are teeming with rats and bugs, but he’s relieved to have an idea of where he’s at. He had been a little worried that they were in a different city or a part of Gotham he wasn't familiar with.

 _Now I just need to find Tim…and maybe punch that asshole, Hush, in the face a few times. Well, maybe more that_ a few, _but not an excessive amount. Just enough to break his nose again...and maybe crack a few ribs...and possibly bruise his kidneys...but not excessively!_

He smiles slightly at the image, looking around to survey the rest of the room. Besides the hall he’s just exited, there’s a doorway leading to what he presumes is the kitchen, a sturdy, new-looking front door, and a stairway leading up to the second floor. Jason glances at the kitchen quickly, seeing the light coming from around a corner and hearing voices. He doubts that anyone there has heard him, and it’s this knowledge that propels him to that door.

A quick peek inside reveals that he’s right—the men inside are at ease, sitting around a table and playing cards. Jason recognizes two of them immediately as the guys who’d pinned Tim down earlier.

 _Maybe my luck’s finally turning,_ he thinks, hopefully. _Either way,_ their _luck has definitely just taken a turn for the worst._

He steps into the room silently, using his training to stay unnoticed in the small space. He creeps up, keeping against the wall and out of sight. One man does look up and makes eye contact with Jason, who grins evilly and makes a shushing gesture. The man goes milk white and looks like he’s seen a ghost, but he complies. Before any of the man’s friends can notice his pallor, Jason coolly clubs the closest man over the back of the head. The others react like a gun shot just went off—they all fall off of their chairs, presumably they were trying to jump to their feet, but only one man actually succeeds.

In the time it takes for the three on the ground to recover, Jason’s taken the one on his feet out by slamming the man in the knee with his foot, then cracking the board down over the guy’s head. The board shatters and the man goes down like he’s boneless. Jason turns to the three remaining men and cocks his head as though considering.

“So, we’ve got a problem, boys,” he says, conversationally. “I really only need one of you—specifically, one of you two.” He points to the two he means. “I’m sure you guys can see the problem…” he trails off menacingly.

It takes them a second to fully realize what he’s implying, and the effect is instantaneous and very satisfying. The one who wasn’t indicated seems to have accepted his fate, and charges Jason half-heartedly. The other two are engaged in some sort of argument over which of them has to talk to him. Jason's spent years building a reputation, and a big part of that is in the rumors of his interrogation tactics. That argument lasts until he’s taken out the charging man and decides to choose for them.

He hauls the last man standing over to a chair and forces him into it. The guy’s shaking like a leaf, and Jason’s very pleased to see that some of his reputation is intact. He lets the man sit for a minute and stew. It works well, and the man starts babbling.

“Look, please, Mr. Hood. I-I didn’t m-mean it, _honest!”_

“Which part?” Jason asks coolly. “The part where you broke into my house and _abducted me,_ or maybe you’re talking about the part where you help _beat up an injured kid?”_

The man sputters, clearly not sure what will work best in his defense, before he launches into the begging bit of his plea.

“P-p-please! I-I’ve got a k-kid and-d a family a-and-d…”

Jason doesn’t bother acknowledge the excuses and just punches the man in the face.

“Shut. Up. If you really had a kid _or_ a family, you wouldn't have had anything to do with a plot to _kidnap children._ So shut up!” He waits for half a second to ensure that the man’s complying. “ _Thank you._ Now, I have a few questions. You’re gonna answer them quickly, politely, and _honestly._ You do anything that doesn’t fit into those categories, and you’ll pay dearly for it. I’m not a big fan of people who beat up on kids, and I’m _definitely_ not a fan of people who mess with my family, so I'm sure you can understand that I’m just a little put out right now.”

The man gulps, nodding. He’s clearly one of the smarter ones, and Jason’s a little impressed with the guy's self-control. A less intelligent man would have tried to apologize and make excuses some more. This one does not, and Jason makes a note to check up on this one again later, after it’s all over and the bastard’s in jail—men like him have potential, and he’ll either end up as a successful criminal or a decent, law-abiding citizen. Jason hopes for the latter, but he’s definitely not going to forget this man and take chances.

“Good. Now, first question. Where’s the kid?”

 _Get the important question out of the way first, then gather information accordingly. Don’t do the Batman thing where you focus so much on the enemy that you forget about the people depending on you. Hush isn't Joker--he's a lot_ worse _in some ways--he's calculating and cruel--he'll wait until there's nothing left to gain from keeping Tim alive. The Joker flies off the handle pretty easily, but Hush just holds a grudge and makes you suffer for years._

“I-I don’t know.” The man says, then rushes to add “I swear! They left a while ago and I don’t know where Mr. Elliot was going!” before Jason can make good on his warnings.

Jason feels discouraged by that, but believes the man—Hush isn’t stupid and keeping multiple Bat in one building is just asking for trouble. Plus, it’s _Tim,_ so there’s the added risk of the kid finding some way to figure out where they are and alert the others—he’s got a magic talent for that.

 _In addition to his talent for finding ways to sleep anywhere and live solely off caffeine. God, who thought it'd be okay to let_ Tim _live by himself?_

Hush would know the risks in keeping both boys in the same space--he and Tim have had...interactions before. He'd have a plan to keep control of the kid while he needs him. And it’d be pretty easy to move around the city unnoticed—Hush is wearing Bruce’s face, and nobody will think twice about Mr. Wayne and his son together. That is, as long as he keeps Tim on a short—read: in physical contact at all times—leash, the kid will probably behave, especially if Hush makes some believable threats towards the rest of the family— _maybe_ Jason too, but he doesn’t really know if that’d work. _We're not exactly 'bffs' and he still thinks I'm gonna murder him if he looks at me wrong_.

 _Okay, fine._ “I believe you. Now, did ‘Mr. Elliot’ mention anything about what his goal is here?”

“Um…no?”

“Did he mention what he wanted me to do for him?” _Might as well make sure that that won’t come back and bite me._

“I don’t,” the man pauses, then amends. “I think he wanted you to, um, kill someone or something. I don’t know who though, honest!”

Jason nods—he’d expected as much. People don’t normally hire the Red Hood for things that don’t involve murder. He grimaces a little at that thought— _no wonder I have such a hard time getting the others to trust me._ That line of thought brings him to another point that he hadn’t considered yet.

“Did you guys do anything at all about the kid’s injuries?”

The man’s face drains of what little color was left.

“I-I-I…”

"You let your boss beat up a kid, and then you didn't even make sure the kid wasn't dying? What is _wrong_ with you?"

"I-I-I..."

"You and your buddies didn't rough him up _more_ , right?"

The guy has gone from sheet white to lime green in a matter of seconds. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a sick, gasping sound. He stops trying after a second and vomits. That’s enough of an answer for Jason. He takes a few deep, slow breaths, trying to calm himself before he does something regrettable—notin  _his mind_ maybe, but he’s pretty sure that Tim will make him regret it plenty. The man is shaking and looks like he’s about to soil himself. _Good._

 _"_ Last question: I need a ride. Where can I get a good one?"

The man stutters out an answer, interspersing it with alternating pleas for mercy and excuses. He's not an idiot, and Jason's face tells him that he's out of chances to make amends. His last hope is that the Red Hood will just turn him over to the cops with most of his limbs still able to function and _not_ with a bullet hole in his head.

Jason listens to the directions, comparing them to his mental map of the area-- _the guy's telling the truth--_ and then he slams his fist into the man’s face a couple times, _maybe_ a few times more than necessary, but he’s not sorry. The jackass  _did_ help a complete psychopath _kidnap_ and beat the crap out of a couple of teenagers. _And_ he let the psychopath take off with _Jason’s kid brother,_ which is the part that’s really pissing him off.

 _Who the hell lets a crazy person kidnap a hurt kid? And what the fuck is Hush playing at? And, most importantly, how do I keep this from getting further out of hand_ and _keep Bruce or Dick from finding out?_ Jason swallows a lump in his throat. _I am so. Screwed._

He tries to shake off the nerves while he calls the cops and gets to the car the man had told him about. It’s an okay car—it _runs,_ which is all that matters, really. Besides, it was only two blocks away. He gets the car started quickly and starts to drive, but almost immediately realizes that he has _no idea_ of where he’s going. He groans and starts banging his head against the steering wheel. After a few seconds, he decides to go back to his no-longer-so-secret secret apartment and find his cellphone and then look on social media to see if there’s any updates that’ll clue him in as to where Hush has been—there are entire Twitter threads devoted to that and he’s found it to be a great resource.

Jason pulls up to his apartment and sighs, because he really does like living there and now he’s gonna have to move. He makes it upstairs without running into anyone and is pleasantly surprised to find that Hush’s thugs actually remembered to shut the door behind them.

 _Good. Last thing I need right now is for my neighbors to know that I’m the Red Hood_ or _that I was abducted. The conversation would be_ so _awkward._

Tragically, they did not clean up the inside of his apartment. The couch lays on the floor, tipped over. The coffee table is shattered and looks more like a pile of kindling than a table now. Jason doesn’t even want to _know_ how bad the kitchen is. He ends up having to clean up a lot just to find his stupid phone (it was in the bathroom) _and_ the stupid charger (under the couch). So now he feels guilty because he’s wasted so much time. After an _hour_ the phone is _finally_ charged enough for him to use it.

He scrolls through different sites as fast as he can, looking for _anything_ that might show him where to find Hush. Finally, he finds something that he thinks is accurate—a user called “@Wayne’s.ass”—he’s pretty sure that the person’s actually a legitimate stalker and creep when he looks at their account—made a post about seeing Bruce outside a store on Broad street and Tenth. He might have discounted it, but the person’s account is pretty (creepily) accurate and a quick search on Google maps reveals a more strategic reason for the man showing up there: the store is less than two blocks away from a major STAR Lab.

He looks up the lab and finds that it specializes in advanced weapons. _Definite motive._ Now he just needs to come up with a plan. _Quickly. I just wasted over an hour on a stupid_ phone _!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're nearly there! I actually have an end goal and know where the story is going. It's a miracle! :D  
> Well, we finally get to have some more of Jason being a BAMF, so yay! Meanwhile, what's going on with Hush and Tim? Only time will tell!  
> Another short chapter, 'cuz I'm pretty sick and having trouble focusing. Sorry about that, but I hope to be over it real soon and get in some longer stories.


	9. Meanwhile...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Jason's busy, Hush and Tim are bonding. Or rather, Hush is wondering if it's all worth it, and Tim's reconnecting with his inner seven-year-old smart-ass self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seemed like a good time for seeing things from Tim's point of view for a while. This is what he's been doing since leaving the house...mostly being a smart-ass.

Tim’s come to the conclusion that he should just consider Jason a health hazard and avoid him at all costs. He can name at least a dozen different occasions where spending time in the vicinity of Jason has led to him being injured physically—he’s not even counting all the emotional pains the guy’s caused _or_ any of the Lazarus Pit-related incidents. Although, truth be told, this isn’t _entirely_ Jason’s fault. Tim probably should have gone to the doctor when he burst his stitches a week ago, but between work and patrol and the stupid cold he caught, he just hadn’t gotten around to it.

 _Of course there_ was _a long string of justifications, but yeah, probably should have done something._

If he avoided Jason _more,_ he wouldn’t be where he was now—in a car (limo) with one of the (many) people who really, _really_ hated his guts and wanted to kill him. _And,_ in addition to the stupid stomach thing— _which is actually_ worse _than it was when he got it—_ he could add the bullet wound— _again, not_ really _Jason’s fault, but still—_ a couple ribs that are definitely cracked, bruises that are going to completely _cover_ most of his torso. The only reason he’s lacking a broken nose and black eyes is that _freaking Hush_ told them not to do anything “noticeable”.

Speaking of, Hush is sitting across from him and apparently he’s been talking for a little bit now, not that Tim’s been listening. _Probably not the smartest plan of action. Respond in sarcasm or…sarcasm?_

Hush pretty much sets himself up by snapping “Have you actually been listening at all, Timothy?”

“Well, _‘Dad’,”_ Tim snaps back, “I wasn’t actually. Sorry that the pain _your patsies caused_ has distracted me from listening to your speech on global domination, or how I fit into your plan for taking over the world…or the Tri-state area, or _whatever.”_

 _You really should work on not antagonizing the super-villains, Timmy. It’d probably make life a lot easier. And maybe less people would be_ actively trying _to kill you. Of course, said villains should probably stop being so_ stupid. _But you really need to learn how to keep your mouth shut._

Hush has managed to embody both confusion and rage in his expression and it would be impressive, if it wasn’t aimed entirely at Tim. “’the Tri-state’…” the villain echoes, nonplused. “What even…never mind! To recap, since you seem incapable of focusing more than a _goldfish_ can, we are going to one of Gotham’s finest S.T.A.R. Labs, we are getting out and going in so that _I_ can accomplish what I need to, while _you_ are going to be _quiet_ and _not screw this up in any way!_ Got it?”

Tim blinks rapidly, feeling a throbbing migraine coming on in response to the man’s shouting.

“Um…why would I do _any of that?”_

“Because if you don’t, I’ll make sure that Jason spends the rest of his life—which seems destined to be just as short as the first—in the basement of that building we just left. _And_ I guarantee you that it will definitely be a much more painful death than his first.”

“You _do realize_ that I don’t even _like_ Jason, right?” Tim asks, equal parts incredulous and denying. “And he can’t stand me. He just doesn’t try to _kill me_ anymore because he’s made up with Bruce and Dick.”

 _It’s_ never _a good thing when the psycho makes a face like that. Crazy people should never look amused with a denial like that. Crap._

“Well, if that’s not a good enough incentive…” Hush says, interrupting Tim’s inner panic. “There’s the rest of the family as well. I mean, you do need to remember, Tim—I know just about everything there is to know about your family and how to make _each of them_ suffer physically _and_ emotionally. I can go into detail if you’d like?”

Tim puts on his best glare—the one that _almost_ rivals Batman’s. “No thanks. I got it.”

“Good.” The man says, pulling out his phone and looking down to scroll through whatever he’s got pulled up. He seems intent on ignoring Tim for the rest of the drive, which Tim’s honestly okay with—it’ll give him time to decide what he’s going to do.

_I could just jump out of the car. It wouldn’t be the first time. Of course, at this speed, I’d be just as likely to break my neck or legs doing that, but it’d definitely throw a wrench into his plans._

He looks out the tinted window, considering. After a few seconds of watching as traffic flashes past—they’re on the freeway and there’s no traffic jams for once—he decides that he’d rather not risk shattered bones _or_ being run over just to get away from the man. In the long run, that wouldn’t help anyone. His next thought is to just take Hush out now—the man has Bruce’s face, not his skill, and Tim’s pretty sure he could take the guy down, even though the blood loss and general strain on his body is starting to affect him. But then he’d have to find a way to take out the driver without crashing.

_Knowing Hush, the partition’s probably bullet proof. Why does he always have to make things harder than they need to be?_

He shoots the man another resentful scowl. When it’s ignored, he slouches back and does his best to not look too childish…or cry. He’s tired and everything hurts and he’s pretty sure that his cold is back. _Maybe Jason wasn’t entirely wrong…_

The car stops suddenly, and Tim flicks his eyes to the window and sees that they’ve parked alongside a small café about a block from the S.T.A.R. Lab. He recognizes it, because he’d been there a week or so ago on a collaboration project.

_Maybe I can signal them for help? Or would that count as “screwing up”? If I do it silently, does that make it less of a “screw up”?_

“If I don’t wanna get out, are you going to drag me out?” _Yes, it’s childish, and yes, he should really know better._

“Really, Timothy?” Hush sighs—he’s never having kids. “Really? Could you please act like an adult right now?”

_Aaannnddd, he’s done it. I’m sorry, but you just quoted my dead mother? And that phrase always makes me mad? I have issues with authority? So…_

“I’m fifteen.” Tim says incredulously. “I’m _not actually_ an adult.”

Hush glares at him as he proceeds to get out of the car. “Get. Out.”

“I _will_ start screaming ‘stranger danger’ if you touch me.” Tim says with a fake smile, climbing out.

“And _I’ll_ kill everyone you care about if you do.” Hush says with an equally fake smile, putting his hand on the back of Tim’s neck and squeezing just a little too hard for it to come off as any sort of kind gesture. “Besides, I’m pretty sure it gets a lot less effective when a teenager does it. Even a teenager who looks like he’s ten.”

Tim snorts, but doesn’t try anything. The points are valid, and besides, with his family’s reputation, nobody will look twice if he tries it. _Thanks, Damian. You officially ruined yet another thing I liked._

And since it's the one time he’d love to have the paparazzi around, they’re nowhere to be seen. _Of course._ Hush obviously is having similar thoughts, because as soon as he’s made sure there’s no obvious reporters around, he drops all pretense of being Tim’s dad in favor of practically dragging the boy by one arm.

“Would it kill you to lift your feet?” he hisses the third time Tim goes boneless and he nearly trips. “For the love of—“

 “Maybe you should have made sure I _could_ walk before parking three blocks away.” Tim snipes back, because he’s a very mature person. “And I _am_ picking up my feet, for the record. Your legs are just a lot longer than mine.”

They’ve reached the entrance now, and Hush switches his grip back to a less obvious one. He also plasters on a _huge_ grin and it’s eerily similar to the one Bruce wears when he’s putting on the “Brucie” act. Tim refuses to change his expression, arguing internally that he’s a teenager, and teenagers are always sulking anyway. It’s obviously not worth the fight, because Hush sighs in defeat and doesn’t bring it up.

He propels them through the lobby and over to the front desk.

“Hi!” he says in a dead-on imitation of Bruce’s voice. “We’re here for the group tour? I received an invitation…”

The secretary smiles flirtatiously and nods. “Of course. Right this way, Mr. Wayne. You’ll be joining the representatives from Lex Corps for the tour.” She leads the way, the two following behind.

Tim’s practically jogging to keep up, because he really does have short legs and _how the hell is that woman going so fast wearing those heels?_ By the time they reach the location for the tour, he’s out of breath, but so is Hush, so it’s not a total loss. He scans the room, hoping to find an ally. Unfortunately, the only people he recognizes are Hush and Mercy Graves from Lex Corps. He and Mercy aren’t on bad terms, _exactly._

But yeah, she really hates him. Or rather, she really hates Bruce, and Tim normally gets the brunt of that because he always ends up running the meetings with Lex Corps. He’s totally not buying Bruce’s “it’s not avoidance, I just think you’re a better diplomat than I am, Tim” excuses--Bruce is totally throwing him under the bus on those occasions. Mercy notices him and nods in recognition. Tim debates ignoring her— _maybe that’d catch someone’s attention?—_ before he nods in return. The other representative looks over then, and moves across the room in a subtle, yet quick manner. Tim doesn’t recognize this man— _that could be the blood loss talking though—_ but Hush seems to, which is definitely _not_ a good thing.

The man shakes Hush’s hand, murmuring a greeting to “Mr. Wayne”, before looking at Tim like he’s confused by the boy’s presence.

“I thought you said you were hiring the big one?” He sounds thoroughly confused, and Tim has _so many_ comebacks for that, but the pressure increases on the back of his neck, so he bites his tongue. _For now._

“There were complications.” Hush responds. “This is plan B.”

“’Plan B’?” he sounds like he’s getting angry. “You didn’t mention anything about a ‘Plan B’!”

Hush makes a shushing gesture with his free hand. “Calm down. I have the situation well in hand.”

“You’d _better._ ” The other man hisses before walking back to join Mercy.

It’s the tone of voice that jogs Tim’s memory: Maxwell “call me ‘Max’” Lord. Tim has met him twice at social events: once at some “charity” gala— _the Drakes didn’t_ do _charity, but an appearance was made none the less—_ back when he was, like, nine; then again about a year ago…back when Bruce was displaced in time and Hush was standing in and… _Yeah, okay. That_ _makes sense now._

Max Lord was a business mogul who operated out of New York, which was why their paths hadn’t crossed more often. The last time Tim had seen the man, he’d been pushing for a business merger with some of the upper East Coast W.E. buildings. He hadn’t gotten the deal and Tim had put the situation out of his mind entirely— _there_ was _the whole Bruce-wasn’t-actually-dead-but-nobody-believed-me thing—_ and he had assumed that somebody _other than Hush_ had taken care of it. But obviously not, since the man was standing in the same room in some sort of alliance with Hush.

He hadn’t liked Max, even as a kid—the man was subtly condescending, rude without being obvious, and just…unsettling. It was like he was observing and cataloging each move, strategizing how to get what he wanted… _Okay, so maybe I just didn’t like him because we're a lot alike, but since I’m not the one in league with a known villain, I think I get to win the whole “morals” thing._

He notes that the tour is starting and moves to follow the group, mostly because Hush still hasn’t gotten distracted and loosened his grip at all. They start moving down a hall with glass panels “to allow a look into the inner-workings of our labs”. If he wasn’t being held hostage by a man who looks _just like_ his dad, Tim would actually really be enjoying himself. As it is, he can almost forget the negatives and just focus on the interesting projects.

They’re about a quarter of the way through when he’s dragged off the main path and into a side room. He shoots a murderous look at Hush, who ignores it, then gives Max the same look. This man isn’t used to Tim’s many angry expressions—Hush didn’t spend a year as Bruce and not gain some immunity—and he cringes slightly. _Good. I can probably work with that._

Max edges his way around Tim and over to a door in the back room. Hush and Tim watch the performance with amused expressions. He looks like he's waiting for Tim to rip out his throat. Hush clears his throat after a few minutes of the man fiddling with the back door and flinching at every noise behind him.

"You do realize that he's not a rabid dog, right? Besides--Max, look over here," he gives Tim a shake by the scruff of his neck. "I've got a death grip on him. He's maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet and he's not exactly in the best of health right now. He's not going to kill you. My God, man! _Get a grip!"_

Tim's only point to protest is "I'm one-oh-five, actually." _Look, there's not a lot going for me right now. That's all I've got, okay? I'm not going to let him take that away._

"Fine," Max says dubiously. "I just don't seem to recall agreeing to kidnapping kids. Look, I can't get the lock open. It's some sort of electronic pad or something."

Hush sighs and shoves Tim towards the door, pushing Max to the side.

"Move. _You,"_ he squeezes Tim's neck, "have thirty seconds to get this open before I lose my patience."

_This is a really basic lock. Like, any of my brothers could crack it in less than ten seconds. Hell, I could do this with multiple broken fingers and still have time to breath before thirty seconds is even half up. Seriously._

He purposely takes as long as possible, to the point where Hush clears his throat threateningly.

"I'm finished." Tim says, looking at him with his best "I'm just a kid" face. "You really should get that cough looked at."

Hush gets a better grip on the boy's neck, Max mutters "finally" just loud enough for Tim to hear, and they all file through the door. The room they enter is a large, atrium like space, clearly some sort of break room judging by the tables spread throughout it.

Tim's got a very bad feeling about where they're going, which gradually gets worse as they cross through the room and enter another hall. The men clearly know where they're going, and he feels his stomach sinking.

_That could be the blood loss. My shirt is literally sticking to my stomach now. And my vision keeps unfocusing, although that could be a caffeine withdraw too. The symptoms are similar...I probably should worry about that._

"Um...where are we going?" he ventures.

The grip on his neck tightens.

"What part of 'quiet' did you not understand back in the car?" Hush says coolly.

Tim takes the hint and shuts his mouth. He's not entirely uncooperative as they enter yet another room (Max apparently has a key for that one). It's a lab, though thankfully it's currently empty-- _who knows what they'd do if it wasn't--_ and it appears that whatever the experiment was, it's mostly finished. He can see the schematics and makes out enough to learn that they're for some sort of weapon. There's a prototype set out on one of the tables, and Tim's stomach hits an all time new low for the day.

"Please tell me you guys aren't here for that!" he says, indicating the table. "That's so...mediocre."

Both men scoff and Max says "Of course not. Honestly, I'm insulted that you'd even suggest it!"

Tim knows he's being baited, but he asks anyway. "So what _are_ you here for?"

Hush chuckles and pulls out some twist ties. "You'll find out soon enough. But for now, I need you secure and out of the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Maxwell "Max" Lord is an actual DC character. He's not typically Batman's enemy--he's normally clashing with the entire Justice League. He's actually almost won, which is very impressive. He was killed off pre-New52, so I have no idea if he's alive or even exists now, but I like him as a character. He's at least as smart as Hush, but a lot quieter and less showy and more confident (he didn't have to steal his ex-best friend's face to be successful), and he's a very interesting character. I'm probably not doing him justice, but hey! At least he gets to be in the story!


	10. Bludgeoning People Doesn't Actually Solve Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason practices his stealth skills, Tim's really good at being an annoying little shit, and Hush needs to find new ways to deal with his anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back to Jason's POV! This chapter isn't my best work, but it was fun to write!

Jason has honestly never been more thankful for his huge growth spurt than he is now. He’s pushing six feet when slouching, six foot-one when he’s got combat boots and his “I’m in charge” posture on. In addition, he’s filled out a lot, finally growing into the lanky frame that made him look a lot like a scarecrow when he was young. All this, combined with his usual choice in clothing, tends to get to him what he wants more often than not. Like right now, as he tries to negotiate a quiet entrance into the S.T.A.R. lab. He’s trying for a more “charming” mannerism, hoping that’d sway the secretary. So far, she’s not been impressed and, because of this, Jason’s still not inside.

 _I’ve lost my touch. Dammit, this means Dick was right and I_ should _have figured out other ways to charm ladies. “You won’t always be small and cute”—why didn’t you listen, fourteen-year-old me???_

The woman looks thoroughly annoyed by now. “Look, as I said before,” she snaps. “I can’t let you join a _private_ tour without prior permission from one of the representatives. I’m sorry.”

_You don’t look it._

“Well,” Jason drawls, trying to figure out the best way to win her over. “See, here’s the thing: I was supposed to be here this morning when the tour began, but I wasn’t, and I’ve gotta get in now.”

_Try playing the “Bruce Wayne is my dad” card. Might as well make use of my being declared alive again. Let's hope she didn't see Hush earlier, or this is going to end badly._

She’s looking skeptical, so he rushes to finish.

“Okay, so, look. I’m Jason Todd—one of Mr. Wayne’s kids? And I may have promised my dad that I’d keep an eye on my brother, Tim. He’s technically a minor, you know, and Bruce wanted me to go with him on the tour, in case there was any trouble about his age.”

“And you were ‘late’ because…?”

“I was kinda sleeping off a long night, if you know what I mean.” He does his best to sound guilty. “And I slept through my alarm. Look, I _know_ it’s against the rules, but I have _got to get inside._ If my dad finds out that I wasn’t here, he’s gonna kill me!”

It’s a low tactic, but it works really well—admit to a fault, beg for help, stress the consequences. He’s used it for years, and honestly? It’s worked almost ninety percent of the time.

“Well…” the woman considers. “I’ll cut you a deal: I let you in, and in return, you’ll get me a date with Richard Grayson.”

“You want me to set you up with my older brother?”

“Yup!” she smirks. “So…do we have a deal?”

_Well, at this point, I really don’t have anything to lose. Dick’s probably going to murder me whether or not I get Tim back alive. And he did set me up with that weird girl in accounting last month…_

“Deal.”

They shake hands, and the woman leads him to the door, punches in the code, and lets him into the hallway.

“Thank you so much!” he gushes, only half faking. “I really mean it.”

“Just don’t forget your side of the deal.” She replies with an eye-roll. “Go down the hall, take a left, you’ll pass a couple glass walls looking out over the labs, then hang a right. They should be _just_ getting to the medical research facility, so if you hurry, you’ll catch them in no time.”

Then she turns and leaves him. Jason has to admit that he’s slightly disappointed with the labs. After the fight she put up, he’d been expecting something…more secret agent and less corporate office. But he is pleased that she didn’t escort him—it gives him room to figure out his plan, snoop if necessary, _and_ it means no small talk.

He moves as casually as possible, aware that there are probably dozens of eyes on him. He walks past the glass walls, looking inside the rooms as he goes.

_Okay, so there’s lot of really cool stuff going on here. Definitely gotta come back here sometime and take a tour for real._

Finally, he sees the tour group up ahead. He pauses, ducking behind the corner. Another quick glance tells him what he needs to know—neither Tim nor Hush are there. _Fuck. Okay, let’s try snooping._

The easy part is finding a door with no cameras and a lock that he can get through. The hard part is figuring out where to go now. It’s a lot more like a maze back here than he’d expected, and it seems to be a lot of offices. After a minute, Jason decides to fall back to an old strategy—eeny-meeny-miney-moe.

After he’s used this strategy for about four intersections, he’s willing to admit that there are probably a lot of more effective ways to choose directions. Jason groans in frustration, leaning back against a wall. He thumps his head against it once or twice on the wall, more in hopes of jogging up a better idea than to actually hurt himself. Nothing comes to him, but he does hear voice up ahead, so he stops before the noise alerts whoever it is.

He creeps forward, holding his breath as he peers around the corner. He’s already figured out that it’s nobody he knows by the voices. There is a man and a woman, obviously employees, and both are walking down the hall, chatting. He figures that the woman might be a scientist—she’s got a lab coat slung over her clothes. The man could be a scientist or just an office worker, it’s hard to tell.

They move closer, and he can hear them now. The discussion seems to be centered around some prototype she’s been working on. Jason’s ears perk up—that sounds like the sort of thing that a sociopath in need of power would go for. He waits until the two pass, then follows at a distance, staying out of sight.

Unfortunately, staying out of sight is difficult, and Jason loses them for a minute. He’s cursing violently under his breath, when he hears raised voices from up ahead. It’s not hard to recognize Hush’s calm, assertive tone, and Jason’s wondering if his luck might actually have changed. _It’d be a first._

He edges around until he can see the door, assessing the situation. From this angle, he’s got a partial view of the room: Hush is out of view, but he’s talking—threatening, really. It sounds like he’s addressing the female scientist Jason was following. He’s got a good view of Tim, who’s tied up and sitting on a wobbly desk chair, and, while the kid looks pale, Jason’s relieve to see that he’s conscious and there’s no visible blood. And he’s honestly wondering if Hush has any idea just how much trouble he’s caused himself—Jason recognizes the cold, blank expression— _are we sure that he’s_ not _biologically related to Bruce?—_ on the kid’s face: Tim’s plotting. It’s almost always a prelude to serious damage for whoever it’s aimed at. _Oh, Hush, you have_ no idea _what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?_

He continues to scan the room: the male scientist is trussed up like a stuffed turkey next to Tim. Jason can also see a man dressed in an expensive— _very expensive—_ suit, who’s presumably supposed to be guarding the two. The guy is looming over them, and Jason’s assuming that the posture is supposed to be intimidating— _it probably is from a different angle—_ but from his vantage point, the guy looks like a cast member in some melodrama.

 _He’s the mustache twirling villain! Okay, that might just be the lack of sleep and stress talking, but he_ is _being dramatic._

Jason figures that his best course of action would be to take out the guy with the gun, then worry about Hush. He’s assuming, of course, that Hush is unarmed and the gun-guy has no experience in hand-to-hand-combat. So…maybe not his best course…

After a second of thought, he tugs on one of the buttons on his shirt until it comes off. Then, he _very_ carefully tosses it across the room, managing to hit Tim on the cheek. Thankfully, the gun-guy’s turned around, talking with Hush, so he doesn’t notice. Tim doesn’t move, but he flicks his eyes over and makes contact with Jason’s.

Jason decides to wave sarcastically, earning an eye-roll. Then, he mouths “distraction” and nods towards the men. He can just barely see Tim nod, so he figures he’s probably been understood. The kid darts his eyes back in the direction of Hush— _probably calculating the most obnoxious distraction possible._ Then he starts to rock the chair back and forth, _very slowly,_ causing an irritating squeaking sound. Jason’s impressed with how fast the kid gets Hush’s attention.

The man stops talking for a moment, then comes striding into Jason’s line of sight. He’s wearing a scowl that’s eerily similar to Batman’s “Dark Knight” expression—grim, tense, and very foreboding. Tim’s very clearly not impressed—he raises an eyebrow at Hush’s grimace, looking bemused.

“What?”

Hush blinks slowly, clearly trying to keep a grip on his temper. “Would you _stop that?!?”_

“Stop what?” Tim asks, continuing to make the chair creak. “This?”

“Yes. _That.”_

The kid shrugs. “Can’t. Honestly, it’s your fault for tying me to such a crappy chair.”

Jason’s having a hard time not snickering audibly. He had no idea that Tim could manage to be _that_ annoying. It’s very impressive, and the look on Hush’s face is completely priceless—the man looks like he’s about to burst a vein, his face red with frustration. Jason is proud to see that the guy’s nose is still swollen from being head-butted earlier.

“Stop it. Now.” The man hisses, leaning in. “Or I’ll make you stop.”

“Fine.” The boy says in a flat voice. Then, with no warning, he takes a move from Jason’s playbook and slams his head into Hush’s already tender nose. The man jerks back, clutching his nose.

Tim takes the opportunity to launch himself into Hush’s diaphragm, hitting hard with his shoulder. It’s very effective in spite of the major weight difference, because there’s not much space between the two, and Tim is smart enough to use the momentum and weight of the chair to really create an impact. The man falls down, temporarily stunned. The strain to the chair has some positive effect, because it sort of just...falls to pieces. By this time, gun-guy’s running over, yelling some sort of threat— _probably something like “stop or I shoot”._

To Tim’s credit, he doesn’t consider taking on an armed man, so he sort of backs up, swaying slightly— _he did something stupid and now he’s paying. Great._ The guy tries to grab him, and Tim dodges out of the way, clearly intending to keep up the game of chicken until it’s played out. Jason uses the confusion to get into the room, skirting around behind the scene. The female scientist is jabbing buttons on a computer screen frantically. Jason moves near, and sees that she’s attempting to delete files. The woman freezes when she sees him.

“It’s okay,” Jason whispers. “I’m one of the good guys. Is there a back door?”

She nods.

“Great. Can you run?”

Another nod. Behind him, Jason can hear that the distraction is reaching an end—Hush is speaking, so that means he’s back up, and the guy with the gun sounds furious.

“Okay. Run for the door now. Find a phone and get help.”

She looks petrified, so he pushes her towards the exit. “Go!”

Then he turns to see how the drama has unfolded— _for somebody unarmed and tiny, that kid really can cause_ a lot _of chaos._ Hush is still doubled over, hands clutching his bleeding face, snarling directions that would be a lot more effective if he could be understood—the blood and nasal tone are making almost impossible to figure out what he’s saying. Gun-guy looks like he’s decided in favor of just shooting Tim instead of grabbing him—he’s got the gun up, trying to get a clear shot. He’s handling the gun like he knows how to use it, which is concerning to Jason— _the only thing worse than an idiot with a gun is an experienced idiot with a gun._

He’s torn as to which man to go for—he’s closest to Hush, but gun-guy is currently a bigger threat. Jason debates for a moment, and then the decision is made for him. The guy fires off a round, missing Tim’s head by maybe half an inch, and if he’s that good, he is _definitely_ the bigger threat right now. Tim looks wiped out too, and his reactions are getting sluggish. He’s not going to be dodging bullets successfully for much longer.

Jason waves a hand, making a circular motion. The kid nods quickly, then turns the motion into a dive-roll to the right. The guy swings the gun around that way…and puts his back squarely towards Jason. _Perfect._

Jason decides to go old-school for this—he slams into the man’s back, knocking him to the ground, then stomps on one of the guy’s arms, hard. The man dropped the gun when he was hit, and he’s now in too much pain to get any other weapons. While an injured opponent is good, an incapacitated one is better, Jason decides, kicking the man in the head, knocking him out cold.

He’s looking wildly for the gun when something hits him in the back of the head with enough force to send him staggering forward. Instinctively, Jason drops to his knees and rolls to the side, just as a desktop computer comes slamming down where his head was. Apparently, Hush has decided that bludgeoning somebody to death with a computer monitor is an effective way to deal with his problems.   _And they say I’m the crazy one. Honestly._

Jason rolls to avoid another blow, trying desperately to locate the gun or anything else that’d give him the upper-hand. He finally spots the gun, under a table— _how the hell did it even get there???—_ and that’s when he’s distracted enough to not notice the projectile flying at his head until it hit. Hush had found a large piece of machinery from one of the work tables, and had thrown it at Jason, who’s actually just surprised to see that the guy has such good aim. _He’s got a good arm too._

The man dashes for a nearby door, pausing long enough to grab the male scientist— _oh, crap. I totally forgot about you. Dude, I’m sorry! I’ll send you a card or something later…--_ who he then drags with him out the door.

Tim tries to intercept and ends up getting knocked over, because Hush is totally on the run, and there’s not a lot a person can do with their hands tied behind their back. The kid lands hard, making a sound that’s an alarming cross between a gasp and a sob when he lands on his injured shoulder with full force.

Jason winces in sympathy— _no matter how you paint it, that just sucks._ He meant to say this out loud, but for some reason that he hadn’t quite figured out yet, his mind is fuzzy and he can’t seem to get his body to work. It comes to him after a second— _concussion. I’ve got a concussion. I’ve been concussed._ The thought strikes him as funny, and then his body _finally_ moves to get up, like he’s been trying to do this whole time. Unfortunately, as soon as his head moves, his vision blacks out and everything in his brain short circuits.

\----------

The first thing he hears when his consciousness finally reboots is Tim cursing savagely from somewhere off to the side. He rolls _very slowly_ to see what going on. The kid’s found a pair of goddamn scissors from who knows where, and is attempting to get at the twisty ties on his wrists without cutting his fingers off. It’s clearly an ongoing operation, and he hasn’t had much success—Jason can see that the kid’s nicked his fingers at least twice, and he’s been struggling with the plastic restraints long enough for them to dig into his skin. The blood makes the attempt harder, making everything slick.

“Pre’y sure ‘at’s no’…’scissor safety’.” He slurs out, managing to pronounce the last word correctly.

Tim jumps…and catches his palm, cutting it. The look he sends Jason goes from relieved to ready to murder him in under two milliseconds. Jason might be offended, if his head wasn’t pounding like he’s got the world’s worst hangover.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The kid states, fumbling blindly to find the scissors he dropped.

Jason doesn’t deign to respond, focusing his energy on getting into an upright position. After he gets there and his head starts to clear, he suddenly becomes aware of alarms sounding off. He almost wishes his ears would start ringing again, just so the claxon siren won’t be as grating on his already frayed nerves.

“ _Why_ the _fuck_ are those things going off?” he complains, wincing every time it goes off.

“Um…because we’re in secure facility illegally? Because we just destroyed over _three million dollars’ worth of equipment?_ Because that _idiot_ shot a _gun off in a public office?!?”_ the teen snaps caustically. “I don’t know, Jason.”

 _Cute._ “Great. If you come over— _my head’s gonna explode from this noise_ —here, I’ll help you with that.”

_Because I’m the better person here. And, honestly? I’m going to puke if he accidentally amputates a pinky or something._

For a second, he thinks that the kid might actually reject the offer— _so. Many. Trust issues._ But then he struggles to a standing position— _nobody ever realizes how much we use_ hands _to do things—_ and kicks the scissors over to Jason.

“Fine.”

Jason bites his tongue to keep from making any scathing remarks, because he’s pretty sure that Tim’s totally one of those kids who would refuse help if they were _dying_ rather than get help from somebody who’s pissed them off. Picking up the scissors gingerly— _so much blood on them—_ he squints a little to focus his eyes, then slides the blades into position. As soon as the restraints are off, Tim moves to go across the room, presumably to tie up gun-guy, or something equally stupid. Jason grabs the kid by his jacket and jerks him down, hard. He got the angle slightly wrong, and the kid lands on Jason’s knees, which hurts like hell.

“Ow!”

“You’re the one who pulled me over!” Tim defends indignantly. “It’s not my fault that you’re a concussed jerk.”

Jason blinks. “Did you just call me a—okay, you know what? We’re not going there.”

He shoves the boy off his legs, steadying him a little in the process. He can smell blood now, and from this distance, he can see that the front of Tim’s jacket is darker than the back. _Fuck._

“Dude! You do know that the idea of clothes is to _not_ ruin them, right?”

Jason doesn’t wait for a reply, because he’s pretty sure that it’ll be antagonistic, and he’s almost out of maturity. So instead, he helps, well, he _forces_ Tim out of the jacket.

Underneath, the teen’s shirt is _soaked_ with blood, to the point where it’s sticking to his stomach. His shoulder is bleeding freely too, creating a smaller red blotch that’s creeping down to meet the larger one.

“Huh. I really didn’t notice that ‘til now.” Tim says, peering at his shirt with a gruesome fascination. “It kinda looks like one of those weird modern art pieces they put in waiting rooms.”

Jason snorts, but doesn’t comment. He’s more concerned by the fact that Tim isn’t really reacting like someone with _freaking holes_ in his torso. It’s not a good sign in general, and he has no clue if it’s the result of an insane amount of painkillers, adrenaline, or a combination of blood-loss and shock. _Not that any of those are good, but it’d be nice to know._

“Well, I hate to tell you this, but I’m gonna have to cut up your masterpiece there.” Jason says sarcastically, picking up the scissors and working from the bottom hem up. “But, if it’s any consolation, true art is never appreciated. Tim, would you just _hold still?_ ”

The kid stops actively squirming, but he does keep leaning away from the scissors.

“But it’s cold!”

“Did you just _whine_ at me?” Jason is practically choking on his suppressed laugh. “God, you sounded like a five-year-old for a minute there! And…we’re done! Yay for you. Do you need a lollipop?”

He snickers as Tim glares at him resentfully— _again, I’m pretty sure that it’s actually a_ pout, _not that he’d ever agree—_ while he wads up the blood soaked shirt, then presses it against the teen’s gut wound. The kid inhales sharply when he does this, but remains upright, an admirable feat in his condition, Jason’s totally willing to admit.

He uses the jacket to secure it, although he’s not sure what to do about the shoulder wound—he’s pretty much out of spare clothes, and he doesn’t really feel like stripping, especially since he's not sure how the getaway will play out. A sudden moan startles him, but it’s just gun-guy starting to come round…and Jason knows where to find more bandages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being so slow to update. I spent a wonderful week enjoying the fine accommodations and amenities of the local hospital. 5/10, would not recommend. Redeeming factor was the heated blankets. That was honestly the only nice thing, and they let you have as many as you want! So I was warm for a whole week, which was great.  
> Anyway, I hope the chapter wasn't too confusing. I wasn't exactly lucid for some of it, so I apologize for anything that is really bad. The good news is that I'm back home, which means internet access, Netflix, and food that tastes like food! I'm planning to have the next chapter up by next Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest. I hope ya'll enjoy this!


	11. Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason might be getting old, Tim's still got the ability to nap anywhere, and they still haven't caught Hush. But hey, at least they're not fighting anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, because I am literally seeing double, and we're all just lucky that I can type without looking. The next one will probably be really long.

As he finishes securing gun-guy—“Max Lord” according to Tim—Jason realizes that the alarms are still going off…and nobody has shown up to respond. He’s a little concerned by this, and a little suspicious that Tim hasn’t brought it up yet. Generally, the kid is quick to point out things like that, especially if it’s somebody else’s fault. _Which means that he_ probably _knows something about what’s going on._ Jason glances doubtfully in the boy’s direction, wondering if it’s worth asking—Tim’s not exactly the most forthcoming of people in the best of circumstances.

“Where are the guards?” Jason muses, hoping that he’ll actually get some sort of response. “Or the police? Or freaking Batman, for that matter?”

“I imagine that they’re probably a little busy with other stuff.”

“’Other stuff’?” Ja

son echoes, trying to decide if the kid’s being sarcastic or not. “Like what?”

Tim shrugs, fiddling with the remaining computer on the far desk. “I dunno. Whatever they’re normally doing, I guess. The alarms are only working in here. The rest of the system’s been disabled, which means that no alert was issued to the police. They probably know something’s up though, since somebody’s probably called nine-one-one by now.”

Jason nods, trying to process what this means for them right now. Finally, he comes up with “So we should _probably_ get going, before the cops _do_ show up?”

“Yup.” Tim says, jabbing at the keyboard. “Probably should.”

Jason rolls his eyes, moving to examine the gun. There are two bullets left in the barrel, which is really disheartening, but better than nothing. He figures that since Hush probably doesn’t have a gun, the playing field is hopefully levelled. He’s not counting on it though.

“Did you happen to catch where he was heading?” he asks, only half-sarcastically.

Tim shakes his head no, not bothering to look up. “Uh-uh. But I _did_ find out what he was doing on the computer, if that’s any consolation. Looks like he was telling the truth when he said that industrial espionage was beneath him. The only files missing are the ones that ol’ Max over there wanted.”

“So what was he doing?” _And why is having conversations with you a lot like an interrogation?_

“Um…it looks like he computed some sort of equation. The network they’ve got set up here is one of the fastest in the world; most powerful too.”

Jason notes a tone of what might be envy and snorts. “You do remember that _we_ have the second most powerful computer in the world, right?”

“Yes.” Tim drawls, shutting the system off. “But I don’t have access, currently, and my own system still has some bugs that slow it down.” He heads towards the door. “We going?”

After a moment of consideration, Jason decides that pointing out the fact that they have no idea where they’re going would probably not help the situation, so he nods and moves to take the lead.

“I’ve got the weapon, remember?” he holds the gun up. “I’ll take point, thank you!”

He doesn’t _actually shove_ past Tim—he’s not sure if the kid would keep his balance at this stage, but he does kind of strong-arm his way past, making sure that there’s no real argument. He’s relieved that the kid doesn’t protest—he is not in any mood to put up with an uncooperative fifteen-year-old, injured or not. Jason starts down the hall, trying to locate anything that might indicate where Hush was headed.

“We wanna go towards the ‘restricted area’, where they keep all the, um, radioactive stuff.”

Jason tries to keep from jumping at the unexpected comment.

“Okay. And we know this how?”

“Because that’s what his calculations were for, dumbass.” Tim snaps, looking past Jason like he might bolt. “And we need to get moving if we’re gonna stop him from leaving. _Move!_ ”

He accompanies the command with a shove that’s ridiculously ineffective. All the attempt accomplishes is a bemused expression from Jason, and a suggestion that he “chill out.” But Jason does start down the hall indicated, moving faster than he had been, so Tim counts it as a win.

The two move quickly down the hall, Jason still in the lead. After a few minutes, they come to a heavily secured door, complete with both retinal and fingerprint scans, and a key-fob detector. The door bears the universal symbols for “radioactive” and “danger”. It also has a plaque that reads the same. It brings the duo to a stand-still, assessing the situation.

“Don’t suppose you brought a bomb?” Tim mutters, leaning in to examine the sensors.

“Nope. I was kind of in a hurry.” Jason tries the handle— _it never hurts to check—_ but it’s locked. “Didn’t bring any sort of computer either. Go figure.”

Tim groans in frustration, letting his head fall forward to rest against the door. “Well that’s great.”

 _The attitude isn’t really necessa—oh my God, I’m becoming Bruce!_ Jason slams a fist against the door, which accomplishes nothing besides a slightly satisfying metallic thud. _I need a nap. And maybe a drink too._

“I’m sorry that I didn’t bring any of your nerd crap. Is there a reason that you didn’t bring any equipment either?” he snaps, looking around for another way in. “Is there another way in?”

The kid sighs, standing up straight again. “I don’t think so. At least, not one we could get into. And I didn’t bring anything because, if you remember,” he shoots Jason a glare. “I was sort of abducted _after_ you took my all my gear away.”

“Cute. You forced my hand then when you wouldn’t behave like a rational person. I mean,” Jason rubs his temples, feeling the headache coming back on. “would it kill you to just, I dunno, _relax_ or maybe even _let people help you?!?_ Jesus.”

 _Because that’s totally a good argument. And why wouldn’t it work? It’s not like he’s a walking embodiment of paranoia and teenage angst…and I am_ never _having kids._

Jason slumps back against the wall, letting gravity pull him down to the floor. Tim leans against the opposite wall, but remains standing, arms crossed, glaring murderously at the door. From this angle, Jason can see the improvised bandages on the kid’s stomach—they’re already soaked through. _We’re running out of time._

“Look,” Jason sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, okay? But we’re not gonna get in this way, and if there’s no other way in…” a quick glance up says that Tim’s either ignoring him or listening without acknowledging, “we can’t sit here for much longer. So either we gotta figure out where he’s going next, or we gotta get help from somebody who can find him. And we _really_ need to do something about that,” he gestures at the boy’s stomach, “ _before_ you pass out.”

He waits for a minute, expecting a protest or argument. But there’s nothing. So he shifts, moving to get up, trying to think of a way to get both of them out without blowing their cover.

“I know where he’s going.”

Jason blinks owlishly at the kid. “Huh?”

Tim looks tired. “I said, ‘ _I know where he’s going’._ So let’s go.”

 _Cryptic much?_ “Could I get a little more information than ‘I know where he’s going’, preferably _before_ we get out and go there? I’m not a huge fan of going in blind.”

“You’re not? Coulda fooled me.”

“Cute.” _And I thought Dick was the talker. Seriously. What does it take to actually shut this kid up? I mean,_ besides _death, unconsciousness, or_ maybe _brain damage?_

The story they come up with is simple, but, given the circumstances, it’s a pretty good one: Jason caught up with the tour group just before the alarms went off. Somehow, the two got separated from the group in the confusion, and Tim had a panic attack— _“It’ll work,” he’d argued, “people always believe that sort of thing. I mean, everyone knows that I’m_ _the weird one, and there are enough rumors going around about my health anyways. Besides, I’m small and cute. It’ll work.”—_ and they’d just sort of got lost and it took them a while to find an exit. If pressed, they had no idea where Mr. Wayne and Mr. Lord went. By the time Jason had caught up, they weren’t there. 

This is laid out as they jog down the halls, trying to find the easiest way out.

“It’s like a maze!” Jason says, irritated. “A fucking maze.”

Tim smirks. “Not a puzzle guy?”

“Funny. Okay, so _where_ are we going?”

“Um…you know that big charity function that’s going on at that museum?”

Jason has to think for a second. “Yes…the one that, um, weren’t we supposed to be there?”

“Well, _I was._ I dunno if you were.” Tim says thoughtfully. “You probably were. Anyway, that’s the one. Well, he’s going there. Bruce is supposed to be ‘out of town’ for the evening, so it won’t seem weird if Hush is there. Um…so, yeah…we’re going to the museum.”

The last sentence sort of trails off, as though he forgot what he was saying. _Or like the blood loss is actually catching up._ Jason studies the kid out the corner of his eye, slowing his pace slightly. Tim doesn’t comment, doesn’t seem to realize it, and Jason’s a little worried about that.

They _finally_ an exit, and come out into the surprisingly bright sunlight of a rare, if not quite unbelievable sunny afternoon. There’s a large crowd outside—police officers shouting orders, people milling about, a couple ambulances. _Oh,_ now _the police show up._

An officer quickly ushers the pair away from the building, shooting questions rapidly—are you hurt; did you see anyone suspicious; is everything okay?—and then they’re shuttled to an ambulance, where a frazzled-looking paramedic shoves a couple of blankets at them, saying something about shock. Thankfully, there’s enough confusion that when they slip away from the scene, nobody notices. It takes a second for Jason to find the car—thankfully where he left it.

“That’s the worst parking job ever.” Tim comments, and he’s not entirely wrong.

Jason mutters for him to shut up, then focuses on pulling the car out and into traffic without causing an accident. It’s now the early rush hour—just about four p.m., and the roads are filled with parents and students leaving work and school, all trying to get home as fast as possible. It’s a hectic, slow-moving mess, and it easily reminds Jason of how he hates driving.

After about ten minutes of stop-and-go traffic, it occurs to him that they have to stop somewhere along the way.

“Where’s the nearest safe house?” Jason asks, more to verify that Tim’s still conscious and _breathing_ than because he needs an answer. “One with medical supplies and clothes, I mean.”

The delay is long enough for him to start worrying, but he finally hears a mumbled “Park avenue, I think?” and the tightness in his chest eases. _Of course,_ finding _the safe house and_ knowing _it exists are two different things. For the love of God, Bruce, would it kill you to be a little less paranoid and make life a little easier for the rest of us? I’m gonna be driving in circles forever…_ It takes a good thirty minutes for him to find the safe house—it’s behind a fake telephone booth in a dead-end alleyway that’s completely obscured from the main street. Thankfully, Jason’s no slob at disabling security systems, and some of the codes were older. He has the system disarmed and both of them safe inside within five minutes of (finally) finding it.

It’s obvious that the safe house— _it’s a bunker though, really—_ hasn’t been used recently. Everything is in order, but a fine layer of dust belies the tidy appearance. Despite the lack of recent use, the medical kit is well stocked, and there are plenty of clean clothes to be found in a storage bin. Jason is incredibly thankful for this, although he’s starting to wonder when the next blow is coming— _my luck_ never _holds for long._

He figures that they have about an hour before they need to move—the charity ball won’t start until about six-thirty, and if Hush continues to be any sort of intelligent person, he’s not going to show up earlier than necessary. Jason says as much out loud, verifying with Tim that this is probably the case. He’s relieved when Tim agrees, feeling the pressure to hurry lessen slightly.

It takes approximately thirty-five minutes to get Tim stitched back up. Actually, for the extent of the injuries, it’s a new personal best for Jason. He’s a little pissed off that there’s no I.V. fluids, although he wasn’t _really_ expecting to find any—that would require a lot more upkeep.

_It would have been nice though—that and a pint or so of blood. Honestly, I really should just knock him out and dump him at a hospital or something. Leave him on the Manor’s front stoop like some sort of foundling, maybe? We are so totally fucked._

Jason cleans the equipment up quickly, remembering that there’s a shower in the back room…and there’s time for him to get one. He glances at Tim, sees that the kid’s already half-asleep, and very carefully pushes the boy’s shoulder until he tips over onto his side. Tim’s too out of it to notice, and Jason tosses a blanket over him. He whispers that he’s going to go take a shower, more as a formality than because he thinks Tim cares.

It’s the quickest shower he’s taken in a long time, but Jason’s tired enough where he thinks he’d probably fall asleep if he stayed in too long. After digging out a suit that more-or-less fits— _being bigger than Bruce has a downside for sure—_ he finds something that looks like it’ll fit Tim, and marches back to the main room. He makes one stop, digging in the cupboards until he finds some instant coffee—the gross kind that people like for the caffeine, not taste. Satisfied, he takes his finds into the room, preparing himself for the battle he’s about to fight.

Tim’s still out cold, and he’s somehow managed to completely cocoon himself in the blanket—Jason can just see the top of his head, the rest is totally concealed in the blanket. _Magic napping and heat-seeking abilities. We need to test for that._

“Hey, either get up and get ready, or I’m leaving you here.” Jason tosses the clothes gently on the couch— _hitting the kid to wake him up probably isn’t the best route to take here._ Then he sort of pokes and prods the mummy-like wrap until he finds one end of the blanket.

He tugs it off, going as fast as he can while ensuring that Tim doesn’t fall off the couch. _Too slow and he’ll just keep burrowing into the blankets, too fast and I’ll end up dumping him on the ground and then he’s gonna spend the rest of my life bitching about it._

“Come on!” he says, jerking harder—he can make out a body now. “If you don’t wanna come, you still have to tell me what the plan is!”

Finally, he’s got the blanket extricated from Tim’s grip, and the teen’s sitting upright. He looks groggy, but more alert than he had before. Jason is suddenly glad that he had the forethought to get a cup of instant coffee ready—Tim perks up considerably when he sees it, and Jason’s reminded of a wilting plant that’s suddenly been watered. He waits a few minutes, letting the boy enjoy the revolting substance in silence. When he thinks the kid’s probably alert enough to speak, he clears his throat.

“You need to get cleaned up. You’ve got blood pretty much all over now.”

He gets an owlish stare. _How long does it take for your brain to turn back on? Jeez._

“I found some clothes, so let’s go.”

Blink and stare.

“For the love of…” Jason huffs, snatching the cup out of Tim’s hands. “You want the rest of this?”

Protesting whine and a glare. _Progress._

“Then knock it off. Here.” He shoves a wet washcloth at Tim. “Get cleaned up. Then I’ll give it back.”

Apparently, the bargain is reasonable, because Tim complies. Jason takes a sip of the drink while he waits, then almost chokes, gagging at the taste.

 _It’s like drinking acid! God, no wonder you’re so bitter. This stuff is, like, one step above rat poison._ As soon as Tim’s finished, he shoves the cup back into the kid’s grip, rushing to find himself something to get rid of the taste. Tim’s snickering at him by the time he finishes purging the lingering traces from his mouth. He flips the kid off, getting an eye roll in response.

“It’s not that bad.” Tim comments in amusement. “You’re totally overreacting.”

“Ugh.” Jason grimaces, “No, I’m not. That’s awful. How can you even…” he gestures vaguely.

Tim shrugs, looking at his cup contemplatively. “I’ve been drinking this stuff for _years._ Honestly, this isn’t even the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah…you’re probably poisoning your entire system slowly with that crap. I’m surprised Alfred and Bruce let you have it.”

“Nah,” Tim looks bemused. “People drink coffee for years without dying, so I think I’ll be fine. And I was totally drinking it _way_ before they knew me. I seriously don’t function as well without it. Stopping me would have been, like, child abuse or something.”

_The word you’re looking for is “addiction”, Timmy. And, if by “function”, you mean “stay up for days on end without rest”, then yes, I see your point._

“Whatever,” Jason sighs. “Just finish it. You know that you look like a scarecrow that got struck by lightning, don’t you?”

Tim grins and nods slightly, not disagreeing. It would be pointless anyway—the suit’s at least two sizes too big, and his hair is sticking out at all angles. An electrocuted scarecrow is probably an understatement by now.

They finish prepping in relative silence, breaking it only to discuss the merits of certain equipment. Jason’s a little bummed when he can’t find a gun or anything like one in the supplies, but he perks up a little when he finds some explosive aerosol gel. Tim scoffs, as though the reaction is ridiculous, but doesn’t comment. This, of course, puts the pressure on Jason to be mature when Tim gets excited over some sort of pocket computer-type gadget. _Why is it the older person who has to be mature? Not fair._

Finally, all that’s left to do is wait. Jason finds a couple juice boxes, some crackers, and a can of meat— _mystery meat is really an understatement where this stuff’s concerned._ He pops it open anyway, and places the food onto a paper plate, which he then sort of shoves in Tim’s direction.

“You’re eating some of this,” he announces, taking a seat next to the boy. “Suck it up.”

“You do remember that I barfed last time, right?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “No, I totally forgot. That’s the weakest excuse I’ve heard in a while. Besides, you’re not going to be stupid about it this time, right?”

“And by ‘stupid’, you mean…?”

“Eating a ton of food after not eating for a long time.” Jason snaps, fully aware that this conversation is an attempt to distract him. “Shut up and eat a cracker.”

Tim sticks his tongue out at the older boy, but he does what he was told. Jason’s honestly impressed by the kid’s ability to make eating look like an act of defiance. He slides a juice box over once the cracker’s gone, though— _positive reinforcement or something like that._

The boy laughs softly as he reads the label. “You know, I always wanted to get these things when I was a kid.”

“What, juice boxes?” Jason’s a little incredulous. “ _Why?_ They don’t ever have enough juice in them.”

“Because my classmates always had them,” Tim shrugs. “I dunno. I thought they looked cool. And the other kids always acted like they were really good, so when I was little, I guess I thought they tasted better than regular juice or something.”

Jason stares at the kid. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“So you _never_ had juice boxes as a kid? Dude, they’re like a staple of the American childhood!”

“I know.” Tim says, sucking on the straw until the box deflates. “I got to have them when I started being Robin, so I guess that counts? Besides, I’m told that the American childhood is overrated.”

“That’s just…” Jason shakes his head slowly. “I mean, _no juice boxes?_ That’s, like, a travesty. And no, getting them when you were Robin _does not count._ You were, what? Twelve? Doesn’t count. Jeez. What else did you miss out on, man? Seriously.”

“Um…seriously? I dunno. What else is an ‘essential American childhood’ experience?”

“Oh…birthday parties, the tooth-fairy, Santa Clause, um…trick-or-treating…fireworks, baseball games, trips to the zoo and, like, circuses and shit…” Jason lists off.

Tim shakes his head at each statement, nibbling on another cracker. “Nope. Oh! I _did_ go to the circus once. So there!”

“Yeah…I’ve heard that story. Doesn’t count.”

“Does so! I had a good time.”

“It doesn’t count. Didn’t you have nightmares for _years_ after that?” Jason argues. “That doesn’t count. You _had_ to have had birthday parties. Those are, like, a given. Even _I_ had birthday parties.”

“Uh-uh.”

“ _Dude.”_

“I still don’t get why everyone does that,” Tim mutters, grabbing another juice box. “I mean, really? It’s not like I was locked in a closet for hours or beaten or anything. You should have seen how pissed Dick was about it. You’d have thought it was a capital offense or something.”

“Uh-huh…” Jason tries to find words that would explain _why_ people would be upset about it, but nothing comes to mind. “Okay. What about fireworks? There’s that huge show in Gotham Park every year on the Fourth of July. You never went?”

“I tried to once. I was…seven, I think. There were so many people. I got lost and ended up wandering around in circles for hours until I finally figured out how to get home.” He shrugs. “It didn’t seem worth it after that.”

Jason gapes, trying to process all the things that statement implies, then finally comes up with “Didn’t Bruce take you?”

Tim stares back, like Jason’s the one making no sense. “Um…No? I mean, he was still dealing with your, um, your death. And then I guess he thought my parents were taking me or something? I dunno. He always told me to take the Fourth off, which I _still_ don’t get, but whatever. Then, he, um, ‘died’, so I didn’t go then either.”

“Okay, what about Christmas?”

“What? The part where some old, fat guy gives presents?” Tim scoffs. “Santa Clause isn’t _real_ , and my parents didn’t see any point in lying about that. And we had a tree sometimes when my parents hosted a Christmas party. I watched all the movies too.” He shrugs, “I guess everyone just assumed I was doing something with my family or whatever.”

They sit there for a second, Jason trying to process the information and Tim trying to figure out why they’re still talking about it.

“And to finish your list,” Tim says, counting off on his fingers quickly. “I never got the point of a tooth-fairy—I mean, what would it even do with all those teeth? And we always lived somewhere where kids didn’t go trick-or-treating anyway. Besides, I didn’t have a costume, and who needs all that candy? And for that matter, Jason, why are those the things that made your list? I mean, none of them are important.”

Jason doesn’t have an answer, so he just shrugs and stuffs some food into his mouth to avoid further conversation. Tim doesn’t press the matter and seems perfectly content to sit and finish the food without talking. It’s growing into an awkward silence, when Jason stands up, clapping his hands.

“Okay! Time to go.” He announces with forced cheer. “Let’s go kick Hush’s ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm only two days behind my estimate, so there's that! Honestly, when you look at my record, this is nothing. Anyway, sorry for the delay. I'm having rotten luck all the way around, but I DID get to use industrial grade acid, which is a really awesome experience that I highly recommend.  
> I'll have the last chapter up before the month's over (hopefully next weekend). Thanks for hanging in there! We're almost done (boo) but I've got another story planned out (yay) and I hope to post that around the 1st at the latest!


	12. Going Out With a Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hush's intentions are revealed, Jason has an out of body experience, and Tim still manages to piss off the bad guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick shows up in this chapter, because it made sense to me. There's also a very brief cameo by Damian and Titus, because I could.

The drive over is uneventful, almost boring. Due to the traffic, it takes nearly thirty minutes to arrive, and Tim manages to doze off after about ten. On the one hand, Jason’s relieved that the kid’s sleeping—it’s ridiculously hard to get him to do that and he definitely needs the rest. But, on the other, Jason’s left to entertain himself for the rest of the drive, and he quickly discovers that the radio is broken.

He starts to hum, but can’t seem to find a tune, so he stops doing that, then tries drumming his fingers on the wheel. That doesn’t work either, so he resigns himself to the silence. He’s feeling so pent up by the time they arrive that he hopes that Hush _will_ try something, because then he’s got an excuse to punch him. This thought puts a smile on his face as he parks the car a block away, where they’re less likely to be seen.

He jabs Tim in the arm to wake him, and follows that up by slamming his door as he exits. The boy jumps, glares, and extricates himself from the car, looking around as though confused. His hair actually looks worse than it did before, which Jason would have thought impossible, if he wasn’t seeing it with his own eyes.

“You need a haircut.” Jason comments, quickly ruffling the kid’s hair in a lame attempt to fix it. Then he has to jump back in order to avoid an elbow to the gut.

“So cranky.” He says with fake indignation. “I thought naps were supposed to make little kids less grumpy, not more.”

He then proceeds to take off at a quick pace before the younger boy can react. He can hear Tim snapping at him from behind, so he speeds up a little more, trying to wipe the grin off his face before his little brother catches up. Teasing Tim is one thing, but letting him retaliate is a whole ‘nother ballgame. He keeps up the fast pace until Tim finally stops snapping and instead complains about the pace.

“Your legs are too long. Slow down!”

Jason has to choke back another laugh, before responding, “Your legs are too stubby. And you sound so much like Damian when you complain like that,” but he slows the pace anyway.

Tim seems to have been shocked into silence with that little observation, falling in sync without another word. _Okay, so nearly killing him doesn’t shut him up, but comparing him to the Demon Brat does. Somebody should tell Hush that...Okay, not really, but it should be common knowledge for the rest of the people who have to deal with him._ It occurs to him that it’s entirely possible that Dick, Alfred, and probably even Bruce know this, and Jason’s just been left out of the loop. _Rude._

They reach the entrance to the museum, merging into the crush of wealthy socialites. Part of Jason is still that skinny little street rat who’s totally disgusted by the display of excess money and wealth. Just one of the jackets worn here would feed and house an entire family for months in the Narrows. He remembers that even his own clothes are worth that much right now, and he feels slightly corrupted. Tim is either oblivious or just really good at ignoring such things, and charges ahead, weaving his way through the crowd. It’s all Jason can do just to keep the kid in his sight, and this is enough of a distraction to keep him from continuing his line of thought.

They reach the door, and Tim very calmly states their names, using one of those tones that rich people seem to come by naturally. He sounds incredibly pretentious, especially when Jason remembers that the boy had been whining about Jason’s long legs not five minutes before.

They enter the building, and the crowd thins out. Jason looks around, assessing the area. There are quite a few places to hide, and it makes him a little nervous. People are everywhere, talking and laughing, oblivious the danger they may be in. He scans the room for anybody he may know, mostly worrying about the fact that they’re not the only members of the Wayne family supposed to be in attendance. He spots Damian quickly—the child seems to radiate an aura of hostility and general disdain, and there are very few people willing to come close to that. Jason leans over and points this out to Tim, who snickers.

“God,” he says, “he looks like he’s gonna rip somebody’s head off.”

Jason nods in agreement, not bothering to hide the amusement on his own face. “Yeah, he does.” Jason continues looking around. “Who else is supposed to be here tonight?”

Tim shrugs. “Not sure. I just got a text from Mr. Fox saying that I was going. Figured I’d just wait and find out tonight. Of course, I wasn’t planning on being kidnapped or anything then.”

The boy sighs, looking around the room as well. “I’m pretty sure that Cass is still in Singapore, so I don’t think she’ll be here. Dick’s probably here, since the Brat is, and B isn’t. Are we trying to avoid them?”

Jason nods. “Yeah, thought we might. Unless you wanna spend time trying to explain how this isn’t a total fuck-up and how we totally have it handled to Dick?”

Tim grimaces and shakes his head no. “Good point. Pass.”

Jason hums in agreement, then starts to move through the crowd, scanning for familiar faces. He can sense Tim behind him, and trusts that the kid has his back covered. After a little while, Jason sighs in irritation, turning around to catch the boy’s eye.

“What’s Hush supposed to be doing here anyway?” he asks, trying to figure out if there’s a direction he should be heading. “He’s got some sort of radioactive shit with him, right? What’s the plan? Radiate us all to death?”

The kid looks a little disgusted by the suggestion. “Do you even know _how stupid_ that is?”

“Yes, I do. I’m not actually an uneducated idiot, despite what some people think. And don’t change the subject.”

“You are _so_ difficult. Anyway, from what I heard, Hush isn’t _doing_ anything with the stuff. He’s just supposed to meet a buyer. He was so psyched over the amount, it was crazy. I figure that he’s got some master plan to make a comeback of some kind. That’s not the important part.”

“Then what is?” Jason asks, maneuvering through the crowd.

“He’s meeting somebody from the League of Assassins. And the stuff he’s selling is an altered form of kryptonite that the scientists were engineering. It was a part of this big contract S.T.A.R. got from the government…not sure which branch. It’s supposed to be capable of not just stopping Kryptonians, it _kills_ them.”

“And we’re so worried about this…why?” Jason frowns, not seeing the urgency. “I mean, I know you’ve got your _thing_ with Superboy, but this really sounds like a problem for the League or something. Why didn’t we just call them?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tim mutters grumpily. “And _the problem_ is that it’s lethal to humans too. Regular Kryptonite is radioactive—prolonged exposure is deadly. It’s why Lex Luthor’s bald, or part of it, at least. This stuff…”

“It’s worse?”

“You only need to be exposed for _maybe_ five minutes before you start to succumb to radiation poisoning. Ten minutes and you’re dead. The scientists were working on it—it’s not supposed to be lethal to humans at all, but it’s still in the prototype phase. And it’d take _hours_ to call the League and get them here.”

Jason nods in understanding. “So all that’d it’d take to kill these people is one screw up in the exchange. Okay.”

Tim looks relieved, as though he’d been worried that Jason would dismiss the argument. Jason’s not sure if he’s just projecting or if the kid really trusts him so little, even after all they’ve just been through. Before he can really start analyzing it though, something catches his eye.

“Okay, don’t freak out.” He whispers, trying to edge them both towards the nearest exit. “But, um, Dick’s totally here, he's spotted us, and he’s coming over. Dude looks super pissed. What’d you do?” _Not that I think you did anything really, but I’d like to cover all the bases._

“I didn’t ‘do’ anything.” Tim snaps, looking offended. “He’s probably angry at you for something. Are we trying to run away or just get out of the way?”

“Wish we could run, but I’m thinking we should consider minimizing the casualties.”

Tim slumps slightly, like he’s defeated. He does look appropriately angry though, so Jason figures that it’s a tactical move. They find a spot slightly behind one of the displays, and wait. Dick comes walking over, managing to pull off looking both furious and concerned. He stops about three feet away, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

“Okay.” He says, glancing over his shoulder once to ensure that nobody is listening. “Where the hell have you been?”

The question seems directed a little more at Tim than Jason, which Jason finds slightly amusing. _As if the kid is going to answer_ that _directly._

Tim shrugs, looking somewhere past Dick. “Around?”

Dick frowns, then turns to Jason. His expression clearly conveys the hope that Jason will be a little more cooperating.  Jason groans internally, but decides to play nice.

“ _I_ have been at my apartment for the past two weeks. And, at least since a day ago, _Tim’s_ been with me. And no, I have no idea where he’s been besides that, because I’m _not his goddamn babysitter,”_ he pauses, feeling his earlier anger over the entire family dysfunction coming back.

"And I’m not his parent. Hell, we’re not even close. If you guys wanted to know what he’s up to, maybe you should have thought before you let _a fifteen-year-old_ live alone.”

The older man just looks tired now, like he’s really not up for fighting this particular battle.

“Fine.” He sighs. “Thank you, Jason. And, not that I’m not glad to see you, but Jay? Why are you here? You _never_ come to these things.”

Jason shrugs, trying to find the best way to answer without full out lying. “Seemed like a good idea.”

Dick looks skeptical. So Jason decides to take a slightly underhanded route.

“Tim made me.”

He doesn’t have the chance to prepare before Tim’s bony elbow hits him in the ribs. The reaction is either staged or instinctive, but the effect is the same. Jason groans a little, and Dick seems to buy the lie, to a degree.

“Okay…” he frowns, then cocks his head slightly. “So…Tim, you wanna tell me how you hurt your shoulder? Don’t look so confused, I can _see the bandages._ Or should I just ask Jason now?”

“Got shot.” The boy mutters, barely audible, even to Jason, who’s right next to him.

“That’s not sufficient. You ‘got shot’ _when,_ and _who_ treated it? Because if you say that you did it yourself, I swear to God, I am going to drag your ass to the nearest hospital, whether that blows your cover or not!”

Jason decides to jump in, before Dick makes good on the threat and takes out his only current ally.

“He got shot a day ago, when he was helping me out with something. I patched it up, okay? He’s fine, assuming he doesn’t do anything stupid for the next week or two.”

Now Dick is looking even more suspicious. “Do I want to know?”

“Um…”

“No.” Tim interjects. “You don’t. Want me to tell you anyway?”

Both men stare at him. The teen curls in on himself slightly, as though worried that he’s pissed them off...or maybe regretting the sarcastic answer. Then Dick glances over, making eye contact with Jason. His look is a question-- _“Do I say yes or no?”_

Jason shrugs. He really doesn’t have an opinion. _On the one hand, it’d be nice to have a fully capable ally for this. On the other, Dick’s going to be so pissed when he gets the details, and we’re both going to have to listen to a lecture._

“Okay, shoot.” Dick says, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

Tim gives Jason a look of utter betrayal— _Did he_ really _expect me to totally defend him here?—_ then rattles off the words so fast that they’re slightly slurred together and hard to hear.

“ _WeneedtostopHushfromkillinganyoneorsellingdangerousstufftotheLeagueofAssassins.”_

It seems that Dick is pretty fluent in Tim-ese, because he shoots questions back not three seconds after the kid finishes. “Hush is here? Okay, _what_ does he have, exactly? And when you say ‘League of Assassins’, are we talking somebody random, or are we talking Talia? Or maybe Ra’s?”

Jason fidgets, because this conversation is taking a lot longer than he feels it should. They still haven’t found Hush, and he can feel the time crunch. And since he knows how very difficult it is to get information out of Tim, and since Dick doesn’t seem to have the magic touch right now, he’s going to have to basically interrogate Tim, which _will_ take time.

“Could we walk and talk?” he suggests hopefully. Tim nods vigorously, clearly wanting the conversation to end. Dick frowns, probably because he knows how difficult the conversation is going to be if they move, but he agrees.

They start back into the crowd, searching thoroughly for the man who so closely resembles their father. Tim attempts to move ahead, out of speaking distance, and Dick snags the back of his jacket. For a moment, Jason thinks that they’ll come to blows, but Tim doesn’t fight too much and just glares daggers at his oldest brother.

Dick smiles sweetly. “We’re not playing this game. So…answer the questions.”

“Which one?”

“You pick.” The man says, a certain level of irritation in his voice.

Tim squirms, looking over at Jason like he’s hoping for some sort of rescue. Jason shakes his head slightly, not wanting to give the boy that easy of an out.

_If you were a little less of a pain in the ass sometimes, we wouldn’t have had to have this conversation at all. Not that I’m planning to let Dick crucify him, but the kid really needs to chill out._

The teen looks so betrayed, but also resigned. “An experimental form of kryptonite that’s incredibly lethal to humans _and_ Kryptonians. That’s what Hush has. If he so much as accidentally cracks the seal on the containment unit, even if it’s microscopic, everyone here is going to get radiated, and they’re gonna die.”

“Okay, so maybe I _didn’t_ want to know,” Dick sighs. “So we’re all gonna die if we don’t stop the crazy guy. For the love of…do you two ever _think_ before you do these things? I mean, seriously, kiddo, how did you two even get involved in this?”

“Hush invited us.” Tim says, glaring over at Jason. “You can ask Jason about that.”

 _Nice. Throw me under the bus in return. I_ will _get you for this later._

“Jason?”

Jason debates just running, leaving these two to whatever sort of drama they’ve got between them, let them sort out this entire thing with Hush. Instead, he shrugs.

“I’m not entirely sure, but somehow, Hush figured out where I lived. And he wanted to…hire me, I guess. I don’t know. He didn’t appreciate my lack of interest, so he changed his plans.”

He holds his breath, hoping that Dick doesn’t pry, doesn’t want more details. He doesn’t want to get into it. He _really_ doesn’t want to explain how Tim fits into it.

“Great. Tim, I’m still waiting for some clarification here.” Dick says, shaking the kid gently. “Remember? Assassins?”

Jason lets out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Tim scowls, but doesn’t really protest. “I dunno. It’d make sense for Talia to show up, but…”

“But she doesn’t _come_ to Gotham anymore.” Dick finishes. “We’re _sure_ he’s meeting somebody from the League?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Okay, ‘pretty sure’ isn’t what I’m looking for here. I mean, I’m not as suspicious as _Bruce,_ but really?”

“I don’t know!” the boy snaps. “I wasn’t totally with it, okay? I’m doing my best here, jeez! I can’t really remember exactly what he said, or if he was even telling the truth.”

 _Fuck. Oh man, that’s not good. I know_ that _expression. Dick’s about to really get into it. Fuck!_

He sees Tim wince a little, obviously realizing his mistake. The kid looks slightly like he’s panicking internally. Jason can’t blame him—despite their brother’s reputation for being the lighthearted, less serious sibling, Dick is not an idiot, and he’s very good at getting information out of people, however reluctant.

“Okay, I think we should probably clear _that_ up.” Dick's grin is almost predatory now. “Now, which of you wants to help me out here?”

Tim looks like he’s probably trying to bite his own tongue off, so Jason speaks up.

“He took a few knocks to the head.” _And he got the crap beat out of him and was suffering from serious blood loss, but now we’re just splitting hairs._

“’A few knocks to the head’? _Really?_ That’s what you’re going with? Now, the _truth,_ please. Before I haul both your asses somewhere more private.”

Tim squirms again, clearly trying to get free now.

“Might have gotten stabbed too.” He mutters, trying to undo the buttons on his jacket.

“For the love of God, _why?”_ Dick moans, swatting the kid’s hands away from the buttons. “ _Why do you do these things?!?_ Why, Tim? And you,” he says, turning suddenly to look furiously at Jason— _I knew this was going to happen—_ “Why would you let him do this? _How_ could you let this happen?”

Jason glares back, equally furious. “Um, have you even _met the kid?_ I didn’t ‘let him’ do anything! He just does it, and I try to do damage control! You should know this, you’re supposed to be the good big brother here!”

They stop walking, and glare at each other, more focused on their discussion than anything. They’re even oblivious to the looks they’re getting from other people. They’re practically squaring off for a fight.

“Really, Jay? You wanna go there now?”

“Well, you want to blame me here, so yeah, I do!” Jason snaps.

Dick looks absolutely livid, although he keeps his voice low. “I _wasn’t_ ‘blaming’ you. I was just—“

“Oh, I know what you were doing.”

They’re both so focused on the argument, that they don’t notice Tim finally getting his jacket unclasped, or looking around, readying himself. It’s not until he actually darts off into the crowd, leaving the empty garment in Dick’s hand that they stop bickering. Dick looks at the jacket with a slightly dumbfounded expression.

“Crap.” He says, looking around for the errant youth. The tension between the two breaks, replaced with a general feeling of irritation over Tim’s ability to be a stubborn, slippery pain in the ass. Dick looks sheepish, and Jason _feels_ sheepish (not that he’ll show it).

Jason agrees with the expression, muttering his own curses as he scans the crowd as well. He’s got a few inches on Dick, and therefore, a slightly better view. He can’t see Tim— _the kid is so fucking_ small—but he spots another familiar person charging up the stairs towards the second level of the museum.

“No clue where the brat’s at, but there’s our man.” Jason nods towards the stairs, already in motion.

Dick follows close behind, cursing under his breath. They reach the stairs and head up warily. Hush has disappeared from view, and the last thing either man wants is to get caught by surprise. They reach the top of the stairs and move cautiously onto the second floor.

As soon as Jason has rounded the corner, he’s torn between face-palming and just screaming in frustration. Hush and Tim are having some sort of face-off (again), positions almost identical to the ones they’d been in less than five hours ago. There are some small differences: Tim’s arms are crossed over his chest, and Hush looks much more bemused than he did before. He also has an insulated bag in one hand, and a gun in the other.

Dick stops right behind Jason, and groans softly.

“Fuck.”

“Language.” Jason pretends to scold. “There are children present.”

Dick scoffs, then elbows past him.

“Hey guys!” He says loudly, waving cheerily at Hush. “You two couldn’t have waited for us?”

Hush looks, if anything, more disgusted than he had with both Jason and Tim earlier. _He_ really _doesn’t like the golden boy._ Jason edges to one side, trying to get a clear shot.

“So,” Dick continues, “Timmy? Did you manage to figure out what exactly we’re doing here?”

Before Tim can answer, Hush snaps “Is there anything you take seriously?”

Dick shrugs nonchalantly, although Jason can see the dangerous glint in his brother’s eyes.

“Well, there _are_ a few things.” The man says, moving slowly forwards a few inches. “You know, silly things, like, um, food…and library due dates,” he pretends to consider, then adds “Oh! And people threatening my family. I take _that_ pretty seriously. So…”

If there’s one thing that Jason will forever be impressed by, it’s how _fast_ Dick can move. One moment, he’s chattering away like nothing is remotely wrong. The next, he’s somehow cut in between the villain and his little brother, and, in one smooth motion, he’s also disarmed the man, knocking the gun across the floor, sending it sliding towards Jason. Jason picks it up, pops the clip out of the gun and tosses both away. He starts to relax, but then Hush starts laughing. It’s entirely unnerving, and both he and Dick stare apprehensively at the villain.

“Um…” Jason clears his throat. “Why are you laughing?”

The man just shakes his head, still cackling. Tim’s the one who actually answers the question.

“Because he just won.”

Jason and Dick both switch their gaze from Hush to their younger brother. The boy looks pale, eyeing Hush with something akin to anger. He doesn’t look away as he elaborates.

“The gun.” He says, pointing to it without looking. “He, um…”

“I replaced the ammo with my own.” The man finishes, still laughing. “A _special formula,_ if you will. The casings were only for show. As soon as the first bullet entered the chamber, the seal was broken. All you’ve done is sped the process along, Jason.”

As he finishes, Jason is hit with the full realization of what has happened. He suddenly notices how pale Hush looks, the way he’s sweating, despite the relative cool of the upper level. The man sways as Jason observes these things.

“You poisoned yourself too?” he says, forgoing the apologies he should probably make. “Seems a little self-defeating.”

“Oh, please.” The man laughs again. “I took the proper precautions. These…symptoms,” he indicates his own body, “Are side effects of that. I’ll be just fine, thank you for the concern. You three, on the other hand…” he hisses in false sympathy.

“Oh, fuck…” Dick turns to look at Tim. “How long?”

The kid opens his mouth to answer, but then doubles over and vomits. _That’s a pretty good answer._ Dick sends Jason a tense look as Hush starts to laugh again.

“So…I take it your plan was never to sell the stuff?” Jason says, hoping to distract the villain for a few moments—Dick and Tim are too close to the man for comfort, especially in this compromised state.

The man scoffs, taking the bait.

“Congratulations, Jason. You’ve caught up, finally.” He sneers. “It took you long enough. I needed some form of misdirection, something that would keep you all occupied long enough for me to accomplish what I need.”

Jason nods in understanding, trying to come up with a plan. _The radiation is still leaking. It’s been at least three minutes…more for anybody up here. And the people down below are exposed too…they just don’t know it yet. Okay. We need to get the radiation contained._

“Hey, are the elevators here hermetically sealed?” he says, an idea dawning.

Tim nods weakly. He’s pretty much relying on Dick to keep him from falling flat on his face. Dick’s starting to look sick as well, and Jason’s not feeling so hot either. He can hear a growing sound of chaos down below, which means that people will be dying soon.

“So what’s your plan then?” He asks Hush, still putting the pieces together to create a maybe viable plan. “I mean, I could see the whole money thing, but this…?”

Hush raises an eyebrow, clearly suspicious of Jason’s intentions. “Well, since I found myself without an assassin, I had to find another way to achieve my goals.”

“So you’re saying this is all my fault? You're blaming me for this?” Jason’s a little incredulous. _Why is he such a pompous ass? Okay, just stall for a few more seconds. Where’s the nearest elevator?_

“My, you _do_ have a serious guilt complex, don’t you?”

Jason frowns, but he’s celebrating internally— _I’ve got a plan. It’s a shitty plan, but I_ think _it’ll work. It definitely beats the alternative…_

“I’ve got a plan.” He announces, then moves, before anyone can say anything, before Dick or Tim can argue or Hush can stop him. He sees understanding dawn on his brothers’ faces as he goes towards the elevator. Dick starts to protest from behind him, probably pleading for him to find a less risky plan.

Jason ignores his brother’s shouts, grabbing the gun and clip off the ground as he charges towards the elevator. He feels his muscles seizing and growing weaker. He hears Hush shout from behind too, and Jason speeds up, fearing that the man might try to stop him. He reaches the elevator and jabs the button frantically, feeling waves of dizziness running over him. _Come on, come on!_

There’s a scuffle behind him, and Jason looks over his shoulder—Hush must have tried to charge him, because Dick’s now on top of the man, wrenching his arms behind his back and trussing him up with his own tie. Hush is swearing, but he shuts up when Dick grinds his knee into the small of the man’s back.

Jason feels serious satisfaction watching the man struggle, and he’s almost reluctant to look away as the elevator chimes to signal its arrival. The doors slide open, and Jason half falls as he enters the small space. He places the weapon in the farthest corner, and then jabs the button for the doors to close.

That’s when he realizes the flaw with his plan—the only way to keep the doors shut is to hold the button down. He can’t exit the elevator if he wants to seal the radiation in.  _Oh, fuck…_

“Jay!” Dick shouts from across the room. “Don’t—“

“Get the people out of here!” Jason snaps, cutting the other man off. “I’ll keep it contained until you get help.” The doors start to slide shut, and he sees Dick move to rush them. “No! _Get everyone out!”_

Dick stops, then slowly nods. He looks incredibly torn, but turns to do as Jason’s commanded. The doors shut then, trapping Jason in the elevator with the kryptonite. He hates elevators, always has, but the dislike got worse after he came back.

It’s too small, too quiet inside. Jason is working hard to keep from panicking, and, in an effort to distract himself, he starts trying to recall all the things he knows about radiation.

He remembers from science class a long time ago that radiation makes you hot. The smaller the space, the quicker the temperature rises. His textbook was correct—it’s been a matter of seconds, and he’s already sweltering. Jason swallows drily, feeling waves of dizziness and nausea sweep over him. The textbook had also talked about radiation burns, and since he’s remembered that fact, his skin feels like it’s going to start peeling off at any moment.

His hands are now shaking with fatigue, breath short and heart racing. His vision is going in and out. A quick look at his watch tells him that it’s been almost seven minutes. _I’m going to die in an elevator._

He’s barely aware of falling to the ground, effort focused entirely on keeping his hand on the button. Jason isn’t sure if he should try praying or not. He wants to be set up right if he dies again, but he’s not sure if that’s the correct route.

 _Don’t panic, you’re not going to die. Dick’s getting help. You just need to hang on._ His internal pep-talk is interrupted by a strong need to vomit. He feels completely wiped out after he’s done, like he’s about to just fold over, melting into the ground.

 _Please hurry, Dick. I don’t want to die in here!_ His mind is swimming, and he’s not even sure if his hand is still on the button. _Please! Please don’t leave me here._

He’s no longer in the elevator now…he’s on the floor of a warehouse, feeling the sudden heat as the bomb goes off. The oxygen is sucked from his lungs, his skin burns from the heat, and everything is so hot, so tight, too silent.

 _Bruce will save me. He’s not going to let me die!_ And then the air is gone entirely, and he’s burning on the inside too, vision black as his lungs cease functioning…

Then, just as suddenly, he’s in his coffin, waking up in the pitch black. His lungs burn, the silence smothering him. He starts screaming for Bruce— _Please get me out! Please! Dad, help me! Dad!—_ but nothing comes out.

He’s alone, and the air is going fast. He pounds the wood above him, but it holds. He sobs, still pleading for someone to save him…

And then he’s nowhere, floating in the dark, not breathing, not feeling, just… _there._ Things fly past him, almost too fast to register: _his mother singing a song; the night he finds her body, limp and cold, the needle still in her hand; Bruce smiling in spite of himself at Jason’s antics; the first time Dick is actually nice to him, offering a hand when Jason can’t get the flip down; the slightly guilty look on his face as he apologizes for being a jerk..._

For a second, he thinks he hears voices from somewhere over him, orders being shouted incoherently. He _feels_ something for a moment, maybe a hand on his face?

And then he’s floating again, images and moments passing before him: _Talia talking to him, face full of both pity and anger; Alfred’s proud smile when he brings home his first report card; The moment he confronts Bruce as the Red Hood, how horrified and sad Bruce is, how_ angry _Jason is. Tim looking at him with surprise that turns to fear as he throws punches and accusations indiscriminately…_

He feels a jolt, and tries to find his way to the light. But he cannot move, and the visions are too distracting.

_Dick looking so betrayed, because Jason’s alive, but he’s not the same. Damian frowning at him with total disdain and derision, smiling shyly because Jason gave him the kitten he’d found, talking animatedly about Shakespeare. Jason laughing on the couch, trying to catch popcorn Roy tosses at him with his mouth. Roy arguing with him over whether or not a flamethrower is a wise investment…_

The memories are slowing now, become softer, less focused.

_Fighting in tandem with Batman, feeling the exhilaration that comes with each successful move. Tim grinning because he’s outsmarted somebody, looking wistfully at an interaction between Dick and Damian, sleeping on Jason’s couch like it means nothing and Jason’s never threatened his life._

_Dick laughing over something Jason said, looking sad while Jason and Bruce scream at each other, rolling his eyes at something someone said, using Jason as a footrest while they watch a movie..._

Finally, they stop altogether, the final one freezing before him, trapping him in the moment.

 _Jason sick with a cold, miserable, afraid that if he doesn’t go on patrol, Bruce will be disappointed. Alfred ordering him back upstairs, forbidding him from being Robin. Feeling so small and scared, because he just_ knows _that Bruce will get rid of him now, he’s not useful anymore._

_Bruce coming in, talking to him gently, settling on the couch next to him. Watching a movie play as his eyes droop, leaning against his father’s shoulder as he lets it all fade to black..._

Jason jolts awake, chest heaving as he tries to figure out where he is. His clothes are gone, and everything hurts so much. There’s something on his legs, weighing him down, blankets wrapped too tightly around his torso. He’s almost hyperventilating, thrashing as he tries to get free.

He manages to get one leg free, and his foot connects solidly with the object…which is warm and giving…and moves. Jason almost jumps, his vision finally clearing enough to make everything out—he’s in a spare room in the Manor (not his old room, thank God), and the weight is coming from a combination of boy and ridiculously over-sized dog. It takes a second for him to identify which kid it is—all he can see is dark hair and small size from his view.

“Hey!” he says hoarsely. “Get off of me, Tim. I don’t even like you! Or you, dog.”

Titus huffs and squirms forward as though he thinks he’s being sneaky, trying to get near enough to lick Jason. Tim just exhales softly, and Jason stares in complete disbelief—the kid is _asleep._ He’s sprawled across the foot of the bed, feet hanging off the edge, a throw blanket tossed over him haphazardly.

Despite the fact that he’s been kicked _and_ has at least a hundred pounds worth of dog on him (Titus is crawling over the boy, and is currently resting completely on top of his torso), he’s totally unconscious.

Jason grimaces slightly, because his body really aches now. But he leans forward anyway, grabs the blanket that Tim is entombed in, and yanks as hard as he can.

The motion pulls something on his shoulder, and it burns like hell, but he has the blanket. Although, really, his goal had been to wake the kid up, and that’s still not happened—he’s just rolled over onto his back, arms spread out like a child playing ‘airplane’, legs still off the bed.

He studies the sleeping boy for a moment, trying to figure out if, A: he got any further injuries and/or medical treatment, and, B: if he’s drugged or just really, _really_ asleep. The kid’s shirt has ridden up, and Jason can see the bottom of a bandage peeking out, so he assumes the stitches have stayed intact.

Tim’s face is relaxed, though still a little paler than Jason feel it should be. He’s got a bandage near his hairline and another on his right cheekbone. But, other than that, he seems to be fine, or at least, the Tim version of fine.

Jason relaxes a little—he got Tim back safe and sound, more or less, he himself is alive and not dead, _and_ they stopped Hush from killing anyone… _right?_ Suddenly worried, he shoves the Great Dane’s face out of the way, grabbing Tim’s uninjured shoulder and shaking.

He tries to be gentle, but quickly remembers that Tim’s basically one step above a coma patient when he’s like this. So he stops that approach, and considers. Then, snickering softly, he looks at Titus.

“Hey buddy,” he whispers, stroking the dog’s head. “Hey. Okay, Titus, you wanna help me here?”

Since Titus is one of those dogs that starts wiggling when you say his name, and he’s also the sort that is easily tricked into licking things because he thinks there’s food, Jason has little trouble winding the dog up. Then he carefully taps Tim’s face, whispering to the dog.

“Come on buddy,” he says with as much enthusiasm as he can. “Come on, he totally needs some loving!”

The dog wiggles violently, then complies. He snuffles the sleeping boy’s face, then plants a slobbery kiss on his cheek. Only, because the dog is basically a giant, his tongue is almost the same size as a human’s head, and the kiss pretty much soaks the left side of Tim’s face in dog slobber.

 _Okay, ew._ Maybe _I didn’t think that through. Oh, don’t tell me that you can sleep through_ that, _Timmy!_

The kid moans in disgust, blearily swiping at his face with one sleeve of his over-sized shirt. He sits up groggily, looking more five than fifteen. He scrubs his cheek, face scrunched in disgust.

Titus is ecstatic, snuffling excitedly and trying to “help” by licking some more. Tim shoves the dog’s head, which succeeds only in overbalancing himself instead. Titus practically _dives_ on top of the boy, who squawks in protest and pain, struggling ineffectively to get the mountainous animal off of his stomach.

Jason winces in sympathy and moves to help, grabbing the dog’s collar and cooing to him. It takes a few seconds of coaxing before the dog moves, but he finally evicts the Great Dane from the bed.

Tim groans softly, still half-asleep. Jason leans over, feeling kind of bad about the whole thing and more than a little concerned that the dog might have caused some damage.

Tim’s eyes go wide when Jason’s face comes into view. He shoots up…and cracks his forehead into the older boy’s chin. Jason jerks his head back, hands flying to the sore spot.

“’the fuck, Tim?” he sort of growls.

“’m sorry!” the boy had fallen back onto the bed, but was now scrambling again to get upright. “Sorry! Oh…you’re bleeding.”

Jason winces. He can taste the blood already, and his lip is throbbing where he bit it. He dabs it gingerly with one finger, then pulls back to check for blood.

 _Yeah. Nice observation, egg head._ He frowns, then notices that Tim looks ready to either cry or hyperventilate— _or both._

“”s cool.” He sighs, trying not to grimace at the pain in his lip. “Really,” he jerks his chin to indicate Tim’s forehead. “You’re gonna have a bruise.”

_Oh, fuck. And you’ll have to get your head wound checked, since of course that’s where it connected._

Tim fingers the bandage contemplatively.

“I don’t think burns bruise,” he says uncertainly, “I mean, it hasn’t ever happened before, and I’ve gotten burned hundreds of times.”

“Radiation?” Jason asks, already knowing that it has to be, unless the kid somehow managed to burn his forehead while in the Batcave

Tim shrugs, still fiddling with the bandage. “Yeah. ‘S not that bad. You should see your back and stomach.”

Jason grimaces, noting the bandages on his stomach again. _Well, it would explain why my shoulder hurt. Damn, I should really call those people who wrote that textbook and let them know that they_ really _understated how miserable that kind of burn is._

“Okay, I need an honest answer here, Tim.” He says with false intensity. “Can you do this?”

Tim nods, looking confused and already suspicious. _Okay, maybe the trust issues are warranted just a little. But I just can’t resist…_

“Will I ever be able to be a swimsuit model again?”

He gets a pillow to the face, but is laughing too hard to really care. Tim shoves at him, clearly annoyed. Jason fend him off and knocks him over again easily.

“Okay, okay. Sorry!”

“You should be. It’s _not_ funny.”

Jason blinks at the intensity in the younger boy’s voice. “Hey, my joke couldn’t be _that_ bad. Chill—“

“You almost died. _Again!”_ And now there _are_ tears in the kid’s eyes. “You almost died, and B-Bruce hasn’t said anything since we got you in here, and your heart stopped _twice_ and he and Alfred had t-to restart it! _Twice._ A-and Dick’s doing his whole ‘everything’s okay’ thing, but I _know_ he doesn’t mean it—he n-never does, but he _always_ does it, because he thinks it’ll make me and-d Damian less upset. I-it doesn’t! And…and…”

He’s sobbing now, breathing rapidly, each sob racking his whole body violently. _Jeez, he’s gonna pop a stitch or something._ Jason has never seen the boy cry, _really_ cry, and he’s totally dumbfounded by it.

“Hey…” Jason says, gingerly putting a hand on one of the hitching shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay…”

“ _No it’s not!”_

“Okay.” _There’s no point in arguing when he’s like this._ “Okay. You’re going to hurt yourself, kiddo. You need to calm down.”

Tim shakes his head no, which makes no sense to Jason, but does give him an idea of what frame of mind the kid’s in. Jason chews his lip, winces when he remembers that it’s already swollen, and tries to think of something. Finally, he decides to pull the kid into a hug, hoping to at least keep him from pulling any of the stitches out from all the jerking.

The boy doesn’t resist at all, leaning into Jason. He’s still sobbing, big, shuddering sobs that shake his entire body. Jason tightens his grip, trying to keep the kid steady.

 _I’m not the cuddly one, kid. I have_ no _idea what to say here. You’re going to fucking shake apart at this rate. I’m so out of my league. Where the fuck is everyone else? I mean, Dick or even Bruce would be a whole lot better here._

“’S okay,” he murmurs, tentatively stroking the boy’s hair. “I’m okay, you guys got me out in time, I’m fine. It’s okay.”

The sobbing doesn’t stop, but he can feel Tim grip his shirt, clinging to him like Jason is going to keep him from falling apart.

 _Fuck. Kid, of all the people you could trust, I_ am not _a good choice. Fuck._

He rocks them both back and forth slowly, trying to think of something else to say that will calm the boy down. He really, _really_ wants somebody else to walk by and take over the situation. Although…there is a small, traitorous part of him that is surprisingly happy that Tim is relying on him for comfort at all.

“It’s _okay,”_ he says firmly. “It’s okay, little brother. We’re both okay.”

_“Little brother”? Where did that even…okay, so maybe he is. The little shit kinda grows on you, I guess. And right now, I’d probably say anything if it’ll get him to just chill out, so…_

He notices that Tim’s breathing is _finally_ slowing a little. _That’s good._ He tries loosening his grip, feels Tim press harder against him, and retightens his embrace, sighing a little. _For somebody so prickly, you’re a real koala bear sometimes._

“Hey, we caught the bad guy, right?” _Maybe distracting him will work._ “Saved all those people too. And we’re all alive, okay buddy? I…know it was scary. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think it through, and that was stupid.”

It takes a few moments, but he finally feels Tim take a deep, shuddery breath, and the sobs stop. The kid is still shaking, but much less violently. Jason sends up a silent prayer of thanks, because he was beginning to worry that the crying would never stop.

He hears Tim say something, but it’s muffled, since Tim’s face is still buried in Jason’s shirt.

“Could you repeat that, please?” Jason says, straining to hear anything else. “I didn’t catch it.”

Tim takes his face out of Jason’s shirt, and pulls back enough to make eye contact. His face is flushed, tear stained, and incredibly intense.

“You can’t die.” He states earnestly. “You _can’t,_ okay?”

“Look kid, it wasn’t that—“

“You have _no idea_ how upset everyone was. Alfred and Dick and Bruce? They can’t take it again, they _can’t._ You can’t _die.”_

“I’m—“

“Do you have any idea how bad it was after you died? I mean, I didn’t even _see_ how bad it was immediately after, but when I started, six months later?” Tim shakes his head.

"Bruce _barely slept._ He and Dick didn’t speak for _months._ He…he would just sit in the cave, watching and re-watching the footage from your patrols, all day. Alfred did that thing where he cleans _everything_ almost compulsively. He barely slept either, because he was _so worried_ about Bruce.”

Tim bites his lip, then continues. “Bruce and Dick both blamed themselves, you know. They _hated_ themselves for it. When I started being Robin, Bruce wouldn’t look me in the eye for _months._ He’d…forget…that it wasn’t you, sometimes, when we were training or on patrol. His entire demeanor would change—he’d walk different, like he’d had some weight lifted…and then he’d remember that it wasn’t you. And you could see him _break,_ you could see it in his eyes. Dick too, sometimes. It was almost a year before Bruce would even smile when he remembered that you were gone.”

Jason opens his mouth to say…something. He wants to deny it all, to say that Tim’s exaggerating, to not think about the pain he’d felt when he’d returned and felt like he’d been forgotten, that he hadn’t mattered at all. _But you’ve heard this before. Maybe less directly, but…_

“They can’t take that again, Jason.” Tim states, lip trembling slightly. “You _can’t_ do that to them. _Promise_ me you won’t!”

“Bu—“

“ _Promise!”_

Jason blinks, letting his gaze wander. He wants to go back to sleep, suddenly feeling exhausted. He can feel Tim’s gaze burning into him, as though he’s gained some sort of Kryptonian laser-vision. Then he looks up, studying the intense boy in front of him.

_There’s something not quite right with the argument…_

“Fine. I promise,” he pauses to consider what he’s about to say. “But I have a condition— _you_ don’t die either.”

He watches Tim blink, taken aback by the statement. He can see the gears turning as the kid tries to sort out the request.

“I’m…not…” Tim blinks some more, looking completely confused.

“Yeah, you’re not. That’s the point, Tim. You’re _not._ You don’t get help. You don’t take care of yourself. You don’t trust anybody. And you _never_ stop.”

Jason leans forward, putting his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“You don’t seem to get it, but,” Jason pauses, shaking his head sadly, “Kid, you’re just as important to this family as I am. Okay? _You_ held everything together when Bruce and Dick were falling apart. _You_ found a way to help our family heal after a horrible tragedy. _You_ figured out a way to get Bruce back, even though everyone else was against you. Without _you_ , Tim, none of us would be where we are today.”

The expression on Tim’s face makes Jason want to punch something…someone. It’s a look that doesn’t belong on anyone, but especially not on _his_ little brother. Jason sighs, tired and sad.

“Look,” he says, trying to soften his words. “I get that me dying nearly destroyed them. But they recovered, because they had someone to remind them of the things that matter. If you die…who’s gonna do that? None of us can, that’s why we need you. Hell, _I_ need you around—you’re smart and you always seem to believe in me, even when you shouldn’t. I mean, you’re my little brother, and, honestly? I need an ally here—Bruce and I are still not totally alright, Dick seems convinced that I’m going to snap at any time, and Damian hates everybody. You’re the only one that seems to think I’m not crazy. So…you want me to promise not to die? Well, I promise to not die, so long as _you_ do too. Okay?”

Tim’s eyes are as wide and round as saucers. For a second, Jason’s not sure if the kid’s even breathing, he’s so still. Jason doesn’t look away, maintaining eye contact. He’s figured out by now that it’s just how Tim works.

Finally, Tim breathes out, a long, loud exhale.

“Okay.” He says, so softly that Jason can just barely hear him. “I won’t die, then.”

Jason smiles, feeling strangely relieved. He pulls the kid into a hug, surprised a little when Tim hugs back. They stay like that for a few minutes, until Tim lets go.

The kid sniffles a little, then straightens up.

“I, um, I should probably go get Alfred.” He says, clearing his throat and scrubbing at his face in an attempt to get rid of the evidence of his tears. “I was supposed to be…um, keeping an eye on you. Had really strict orders to let Bruce and Alfred know when you woke up.”

Jason nods. “Yeah, don’t ignore orders from Alfred. It doesn’t end well.”

Tim gives him a small smiles, then hops off the bed, heading towards the door. He stops for a second at the threshold, as though considering something. Then he glances back at Jason.

“Thanks, Jason.” He says softly, exiting before Jason can respond at all.

**Several months later…**

The Red Hood leans against a wall, watching an interaction across the street. He’s been waiting around for a few hours now, watching for his target.

He shifts positions, trying to find a spot that feels less hard and cold on his shoulders. After a few minutes of restless shifting, he sighs in exasperation and gives up. _I don’t need to be_ that _comfy anyway._

Finally, there’s action across the street. He watches with interest as Red Robin jumps down from somewhere, startling both of the men below. One tries to pull out a gun or some other sort of weapon, but the vigilante thwarts the attempt, neatly breaking the thug’s arm. His companion tries to bolt then, only to be caught by a well-aimed bolo to the legs.

Red Hood is slightly impressed with the speed in which it all went down. He smirks under his helmet, watching with amusement as Red Robin restrains the men—he’s having some trouble with the larger man, who apparently is a little too heavy for him to move easily. The vigilante grimaces, releasing the man. He seems to be trying to figure out a different strategy for restraining the crook.

The Red Hood pushes himself off the wall and walks over casually.

“Want a hand?” he says, nonchalantly.

Red Robin glares at him, but seems to reconsider after a moment. He nods curtly, moving to the side to let the man pass. The Hood grins under the helmet, grabbing the crook roughly and dragging him to the lamppost where the other thug is already tied. He tosses the man to the ground with a little more force than might be necessary, then cheerfully proceeds to secure the man to the post.

When he’s finished, he straightens up, clapping his hands together.

“Okay kid,” he says, draping an arm over the younger vigilante’s shoulders and forcibly leading him along. “Break time.”

“What?”

“Break time. You do know the definition, right?”

He picks up the pace a little as the teen sputters, protesting against all of it. By the time he stops, they’ve entered an alley. Red Hood lets go, the nimbly tugs his helmet off. He shoots the kid a grin.

“Okay, stop pouting. You look ridiculous.”

“I’m not—“

“You are.”

He turns and grabs something out from behind a dumpster, then throws it at the kid.

“Get dressed. We’re going out.”

It takes two minutes for Tim to stop arguing, four for him to put the clothes on, and then another five for him to stop complaining about what a waste of time this scheme was. Of course, Jason can tell that Tim has no idea of _what_ the “scheme” is, but it definitely doesn’t stop him from complaining.

The two use Jason’s bike, since, as Jason pointed out, Tim doesn’t have a license, and, therefore, shouldn’t have a car parked nearby. And since the alternative would be admitting to driving illegally and then having to convince Jason to not rat him out, Tim relents and gets on. Jason’s pleased that his blackmail has worked—the kid keeps quiet until they get to their destination.

“Why are we at the park?” the teen asks, giving Jason a dubious look.

Jason grins and shrugs, starting to walk across the grass. He can hear Tim behind him, so he knows that curiosity has won out over suspicion. After a few minutes, he decides to play nice.

“Well…it has to do with the time of the year…” he says, although it does occur to him that Tim doesn’t exactly keep track of the date very well. “And a sacred tradition, of course.”

Tim looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “What?”

“Okay, looks like you’ll just have to wait and find out then!” Jason says, because he’s not going to give answers that easily.

They continue across the grass, walking past groups of people that gradually turns into a crowd. Jason slows down slightly in order to not lose Tim in the crush of people. A glance over his shoulder tells him that the boy’s still trying to put the pieces together. _Good. It’s a lot more fun when he’s confused—it makes him less snappy._

Jason finds a tree that’s relatively clear, then leans back against it, waiting. Tim flops down on the ground, still looking a little confused. He doesn’t look too pissed off though, so Jason’s not that concerned.

“What are we doing?” the kid asks after a few minutes have gone by.

“Waiting.”

“For?”

Before Jason can answer, there’s a loud “ _Boom!”_ that vibrates the air and startles Tim into jumping. Jason has to fight to keep from cracking up at the expression on his brother’s face.

A second explosion goes off, lighting the sky up with colorful sparks. He can see understanding dawn on the teen’s face, mixed with the awe that fireworks somehow instill in everybody.

“I figured it was a part of the American Childhood that you could still get.” Jason explains with a shrug when the kid looks over at him. “Although I do wonder how you manage to forget one of the national holidays. I mean, dude. The stores have been full of explosives for weeks!”

He doesn’t get a snappy comeback, because Tim’s far too distracted by the fireworks display to really argue. Jason grins a little, watching his brother’s face illuminated by the explosions.

The kid looks years younger, and a lot happier than Jason’s seen before. He smiles, pleased with himself for figuring out part of the puzzle that is Tim.

 _It only seems fair,_ he thinks, watching the sky light up over and over in dazzling colors. _He tries to fix everything, even_ me. _Seems fair that_ somebody _should try to fix him some too. Besides, it gives me a chance to go see the firework show._

They watch the entire display in silence, lingering there until the crowd clears out. Jason starts the trek back to the bike, whistling softly under his breath. Tim walks alongside, looking like he’s trying to figure out some particularly challenging puzzle.

“Why?” he asks suddenly as they reach the bike. “Why did you…?”

Jason shrugs, fishing for his keys. “Because it seemed like a good idea and you did say you hadn’t seen the fireworks before. So I figured it’d be a good way to spend our night.”

He mounts the bike and starts it, waiting for Tim to figure out what he was doing. The kid stares hard at him for a moment, then grins, clambering onto the bike behind Jason. He wraps his skinny arms around the man’s waist, in what Jason is pretty sure is less of a precaution and more of a hug.

“Thanks,” he says as Jason pulls out into the street. “This was way better than juice boxes.”

Jason laughs, gunning the engine.

“Well, I would hope so.” He says, still chuckling at the statement. “It was a lot more fun than I planned on having tonight, that’s for sure.”

And with that, he starts the drive back towards where they’d come from. There’s a warm feeling in his stomach, and he can’t seem to stop grinning. After a second of consideration, he changes directions, heading for his apartment instead. He shouts a suggestion for dinner and maybe a movie, laughing under his breath at the enthusiastic nod he gets in response.

 _Yeah, definitely not what I planned on doing tonight,_ he thinks, glancing up towards the sky. _It’s a lot better though, I think._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the end, dear readers! This is now officially the longest thing I have ever written AND finished, so I'm incredibly proud. I'm also up super late and have to go to work in a few hours, but it was so worth it! I hope you all enjoy this final chapter--I know I did :)  
> Just to clarify, because somebody pointed out that it didn't make a ton of sense--Hush's plan is to assassinate a competitor at the party (or is it a ball?), planning to stage it as an unfortunate event. The museum houses many strange things, and so he could easily make it appear that one of the displays contained some sort of radiated material. Since a mass death would make it seem much more random and like a freak accident, he could probably get away without anyone realizing that he had an actual target. After all, who looks for a murder in the middle of a tragedy?


End file.
